


Sacrifices

by Gallicenae



Series: Dragon Age - Mages and Templars [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Battle, Darkspawn, Demons Are Assholes, F/M, Grey Wardens, Mages and Templars, Moral Dilemmas, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4376609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallicenae/pseuds/Gallicenae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you want to survive, you must learn the rules and realize that sometimes, sacrifices are necessary." - First Enchanter Irving</p><p>The story of Rhian Amell from Origins to the mage uprising in Kirkwall, her relationship with a templar, and the price of staying ahead of her own demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shame

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon Age belongs to Bioware.  
> Rhian, Caerlyn, Aneiryn, Veda, Juno, and Istrum are mine. 
> 
> Chapters will be short, focusing on one scene at a time. The primary PoV will be Rhian Amell, with the secondary coming from Caerlyn Cousland. The timeline covers 9:13-9:37 Dragon.

9:13 Dragon - Kirkwall, The Free Marches  
Evening at the Amell Estate

He was an old man whose skin seemed to have outgrown his bones. The circlet round his head reflected the firelight and did his haggard face no favors. The furrow upon his brow had rooted deeply many years ago, with Lord Aristide often lost beneath them. He was sitting in his favorite chair, steep-backed and worn bare from many long nights by the fire. His brother, Lord Fausten, was fiercely shaking Revka by the shoulders. Had Aristide the strength, he would have done it himself.

"Revka, we must be rid of it!" Fausten's desperation was tangible. "Word has found its way through Hightown. We will be shamed if we aren't rid of it!"

Fausten was roughly twenty years Aristide's junior, which made him an old man in his own right, but his mobility was not as hampered as Aristide's had become. Aristide shifted his gaze from the hearth to frown at his young niece. Her clothes were wrinkled, hair disheveled, and her eyes a sour red from all the wailing she had made them endure. Revka did not have the look of an Amell at this hour.

"Maker help me, I will throw that child to the Templars myself if you do not!" Fausten punctuated his frenzy with a final, violent shake of his daughter's shoulders.

"Fausten, shaking your daughter will not force sense into that empty head of hers." Aristide waved his knotted hand at his brother, the Amell signet ring sliding with the motion. Fausten released Revka, and she sank to the floor.

"Father, you can't mean that!" Revka rang her hands to the bone. "She is an Amell. Surely there isn't need to send her away!" She grasped at straws, desperate, just like her father. "We're of noble birth, there must be something you can do to-"

The bottom of Lord Aristide's cane hit hard against the marble floor. He turned his chair, ignoring the scraping echoing along the walls. His amber eyes glowed with a fierceness that rivaled his weakened body as his gaze snapped to the girl kneeling on the floor. 

"That creature is not of noble blood," he spat. "Being sired by a Tevinter is bad enough, but a mage…" His voice was cold and brittle, like a dry storm in winter when the wind itself seems to freeze.

"But Rhian is a child, an innocent!" Revka had become a blubbering mess. "She would never harm anyone!"

"There is no such thing as an innocent mage!" Lord Aristide found himself standing in his fury. "Her existence is harmful enough!" He had been put forth as a candidate for the next viscount, and had been poised to heighten the glory of his family. His children would follow in his stead, and the Amells would be a great line and boon to Kirkwall; the power of the eagle would not be denied. Then it had all fallen apart.

Revka had mysteriously begotten a child some three years ago, a pretty little thing with blue eyes that contrasted remarkably with her Amell skin. It was Leandra who revealed the father's background after he had been run out of town for illicit activities with apostates in Darktown. 

And now, barely a week ago, a servant claimed to have seen Rhian show signs of magical ability. Whether it was true or not, it had all fallen through when that same servant had ended up drunk at the Hanged Man. Lord Aristide did not need the specifics to have the man thrown into the dark cellars beneath the estate. He knew it was now a matter of containment, of controlling the damage that was sure to ensue.

Revka was muttering from the floor. "You can't just hand her over to them! They'll kill her! Please, uncle, for the affection you bore her before you knew, for what little love you still hold in your heart for me, please!"

Revka's cries had been falling on deaf ears since she began trying to plead her case, but they were still loud enough to wake the rest of the household. Leandra stepped into the study holding her little cousin tightly to her chest, rocking the girl back and forth. They were in their night shifts, their feet bare. The little one was rubbing her bright eyes. "Father, what's all this noise? Rhian woke up crying some time ago, and I haven't been able to put her back to bed."

Looking up at Leandra, Revka made to rise, to keep and comfort herself as much as her child. All Aristide had to do was nod to his brother, and Fausten grabbed hold of his daughter's arms. She cried out until Fausten gripped her more tightly, and then Revka merely whimpered.

"Leandra dear, I am sorry we have kept you up so late. We were just discussing what to do with your young cousin there." Aristide walked stiffly over to his daughter, his pride, and brushed her dark hair away from her face. "I wonder, do you know why she is the topic of the evening?"

His daughter's grey eyes shifted from Revka and her uncle to her father. Leandra knew better than most that Rhian was different, that she was likely a very special girl. And while she was confident the child would never use her gifts in anger, she understood that magic was feared, especially by her father. "Surely it's too early to decide anything now."

Lord Aristide frowned. "Perhaps you are right, but then again, perhaps not. It is not a chance I am willing to take." His daughter was willful, almost to a fault, but he admired her spirit. "All mages belong in the Circle where the only people they can hurt are themselves."

Leandra squeezed Rhian to her breast and looked down at her cousin. Revka would not be able to convince Fausten or Aristide to keep Rhian here. From how long they had been arguing, Leandra guessed she would not be able to sway them any differently. She had nothing against mages or their magic, but now was not the time to say so, at least not so blatantly. "And what if Rhian's different?"

Aristide studied Leandra's face; it was a stubborn mask of nonchalance. She had learned the best from him. He let a grimace grow across his lips. "That child is no different, Leandra. You are a fool to think so. The Maker has cursed her, and she is the one who must bear that burden." 

He looked into the child's bewildered blue eyes. Danger lurked there even now. This three-year old girl had ruined all that he had set to accomplish in a matter of days. He was not going to stand by and let her grow out of control. He would not have her anywhere she could further damage the family name. "She will go to the Circle, but it will not be here." Lord Aristide turned his back and faced the fireplace once more. "Fausten, take her. Leandra, attend to Revka."

The ungodly howl loosed from Revka's lips tore into Leandra's soul. Fausten had tossed her into Aristide's chair and away from the babe as if she were rag doll. She tumbled to the floor, her hair a mess around her. Fausten's hands were quick to grasp Rhian, and he tucked her securely in his arms. The girl was wailing tired tears and reaching for where her mother should have been. Fausten left with such a quick turn of his heel that when Revka managed to lunge toward him, she found only Leandra's arms. Her sobs were barely muffled by her cousin's embrace.

"You will not be going anywhere near that child. You have corrupted her enough, and your family along with her." Lord Aristide believed it would have been a greater courtesy to have the child killed rather than send her away on the only ship sailing that night. He had not asked where it was headed, just that it take the child as far as it would go. He had paid the captain thirty sovereigns, ten to hold his tongue and twenty for his trouble.


	2. Poultice

9:25 Dragon - Circle of Magi, Ferelden

The August winds made the great oak sway in the outer courtyard of the Circle's tower. Rhian could just glimpse the new Templar recruits training with sparring dummies over the wall.

"You've been spending more time out here since reinforcements arrived." Blond hair fell into the eyes of a young mage making his way up the branches to join her.

"Just taking in the view before we're locked up for the winter." Rhian turned a page of the book she'd borrowed from the library. "And you might want to do something about that hair, Anders. The sound of you blowing it from your face every minute is a pain."

Anders sat next to her on the sturdy limb and took the book from Rhian's hands. "Why are you reading about spirit energy when there are obviously more delightful things to look at?"

"I-"

"Oh, I get it!" Anders slammed the tome shut and smirked. "You fancy one of them. This is just a cover!" He dangled the book out of Rhian's reach as she grasped for it. "C'mon, which one is it? No, wait. I bet I can guess."

Anders made a show of pressing his hand to his temples, attempting to divine the answer. Rhian rolled her eyes and began her descent to the ground. She did not feel like playing his games today. The newest members of their Templar order had arrived early in the spring. Some were fresh recruits from the Bannorn, but most were transfers from other areas of Thedas. 

"It's the one with the furry face!" Anders made Rhian jump with his sudden upside-down appearance, his feet wrapped around a branch above her.

When she collected herself from the surprise, Rhian passed an unamused stare at him. "You're the one who likes furry faces and long whiskers." 

"Then, the bear! Hook nose! Mr. Ponytail!" Anders righted himself and leapt from the lowest branch to the ground. 

Rhian unknotted her robes to cover her legs. "Like I'd even tell you if you were right." She held out her hand for the book on spirits, and Anders handed it over. He had a troublesomely sly grin spreading across his face. "What?"

"It's the curly-haired ginger who can't lift a sword and shield without struggling." Anders leaned forward and tapped Rhian's chin to shut her mouth. His eyes gleamed as he took in the blush spreading across her face. "I always knew there was a rebel mage in there somewhere." His hands stood triumphantly on his hips as he gazed over Rhian's head to the tower's entrance.

Rhian had seen that look several times before. "I'm not going to help you escape again Anders." The older boy withered almost immediately. "And neither will Jowan, though he's too afraid to say so to your face."

"Tsk. You are absolutely no fun Amell. I'm going to get Jowan to play some pranks on the sisters since you're so busy pining over the enemy." He smoothed out his robe and gave Rhian's braid an affectionate tug before walking back to the tower, his hands laced behind his head and whistling.

"You there, Amell!" Rhian whipped around at the sound of Knight-Commander Greagoir's gruff and demanding voice. "Stop standing around and get over here girl! We need a healer!"

Rhian ran to the other end of the courtyard and was met by a rowdy gathering of Templars. Their sparring had apparently turned into a contest of strength, and a younger recruit lay against the wall, his head bleeding, cut from the stone. She heard a veteran say it was well deserved since the boy had been such a "cocky little shit," to start with. 

"I need clean bandages and some elfroot."

"What, you can't just wave your hands and magic him better?" By the dripping sarcasm, Rhian guessed it was likely the Templar responsible for the injury.

"Shut it Trapper." Greagoir's voice cut through everything. "You're on latrine duty for a week. You're supposed to train them, not bloody kill them. The rest of you, get back to work." Rhian was ready to hear a muttering of dissent, but none came. "Cullen, get what she needs."

Rhian did not hesitate to reach for the broken Templar's head, her fingers gingerly feeling for further injuries. She hummed as she worked to keep her hands steady and her concentration at its highest. Energy, the color of fresh leaves, rapped around her fingers and smoothed over the young man's head. Maintaining her focus was paramount. Rhian had to be able to feel with her magic and pinpoint all the injuries she could not see. It was easier to do on herself than on another person. 

The man began to moan and his eyes fluttered open, adjusting to what was happening. "Welcome back, you idiot," was his greeting from the commander.

"You're going to be fine, but please don't move until I'm done." Rhian's voice was calm, drawing on the lessons in which she had practiced her healing magic. It would do no one any good, especially the patient, if he could guess the extent of his injuries by the healer's demeanor. 

"H-here." A hand, slightly broader than her own, held out the bandages and elfroot she had requested. He was out of breath.

She managed a rough poultice with the elfroot and wrapped the bandages tightly around the man's head. "This will hold for now, but he needs to go to the infirmary."

The Templar was helped to his feet and supported away by his comrades. Rhian hadn't realized the sun had drifted so low behind the mountains. She let out a sigh as she took the pressure off her knees and sat against the stone wall.

"That, that was amazing! I've never seen magic so gentle." It was the recruit who'd given her the bandages, the one with the curled, red hair, Cullen.

Rhian looked down to hide her blush. "Thank you. I've never," she paused in thought, "It was my first time doing that for someone else."

"Well, I'm glad you came down from your tree to help." Cullen reached for something behind him and placed it in front of Rhian. "You left this there, by the way."

"Eh? My tree?" She gratefully took the weathered binding into her hands again, something to hold on to when she wasn't sure what to say.

Cullen's smile was warm underneath a dirt-ridden face. "Well, you've been there nearly every day since the weather's so nice. What do you read? I mean, aside from," he leaned over to see the title of the book he'd returned, "School of Spirit."

Before she could answer, Greagoir called out to them as the Templars began picking up the training ground. "Hey you two, we can't have mages out after dark. Cullen, take Amell inside and tell the First Enchanter I'd like a word with him."

"Y-yes sir!" Cullen stood straight, giving a fervent salute until Greagoir turned away shaking his head. Then he reached a freshly calloused hand down to Rhian, "Let's go, Amell. You can show me the library."

She took his hand as he helped her to her feet. "Rhian."

"Huh?"

"My name is Rhian."

He shook her hand in greeting, a simple gesture she wasn't used to from anyone other than a mage. "I'm Cullen."


	3. Desire

Sacrifices - Chp. 3 Desire

9:28 Dragon - Cricle of Magi, Ferelden

Rhian combed her fingers through her hair, reveling in the warmth that spread over her body from the hot bath water. She had spent a long day working with other apprentices gathering herbs and helping the Tranquil make potions. Her back ached and her neck was sore. She was one of the last in the dorms for the evening, and she took full advantage of her comrades' slumber to have the longest and quietest bath she'd known in years.

"Mew." Two orange paws alighted on the rim of the tub.

"Mr. Wiggums," Rhian whispered. "You're supposed to be hunting creatures in the dark." She smiled at him and scratched the cat's chin.

Anders had been locked up in solitary for his latest escape attempt, and Rhian had taken it upon herself to care for his favorite whiskered friend. Jowan was allergic and Anders didn't trust the sisters' charity. So Rhian was the one who'd been discreetly leaving food where the cat could sneak in and out without being too much of a bother to the other apprentices. 

"Mew." A little pink nose peeked over the tub as Mr. Wiggums tried to get a glimpse of the sudsy water. Rhian picked up a finger of foam and gingerly placed it next to his nose. The cat's nose twitched, shaking his whiskers, and then he returned his paws to the floor.

She shrank down into the tub, her body contorting to fit as much skin beneath the water as possible. A heavy sigh escaped her, rippling the water nearest her lips. She hadn't seen Cullen in weeks, and it wasn't like she could casually ask after him. The pressure of expectations had been building on both of them in recent months. He had been working harder in the training yard as well as becoming more guarded with his conversations. Rhian had been up to her neck in magical theory with Irving watching her every move. She let her eyes close, her thoughts swimming.

"Looks like you could use a hand." Strong fingers gripped her bare shoulders and Rhian found herself leaning against a muscular chest, the smell of sweat and wood chips surrounding her.

Water splashed onto the floor as she hurriedly turned to confront the intruder. Rhian met a familiar face with the beginnings of his first beard and his hair wrapped in wet ringlets. 

"Cullen! What, what are you doing?" The blush ran over her face, stretching into her chest. "Get out!" She turned her back to him, bringing her knees to her chest to recover what modesty she could.

His strong arms wrapped around her middle, the shock making her fall back against him. Cullen held her tight to his chest and brushed his head alongside hers to whisper, "You don't really mean that." His teeth grazed her ear. "You want me to keep touching you."

Rhian felt feverish in the hot water as one of Cullen's hands fondled her breasts and the other caressed her thigh. He was leaving a trail of kisses along her neck until she turned her face toward his. His lips tasted of summer. He never once hesitated to breathe his desire for her, his ecstasy that she was finally in his arms. His stubble rubbed raw against her chin as his fingers fervently sought entrance between her legs. A soft whimper escaped Rhian as he found her, and she bit her lips to keep the rest at bay.

"Don't." Cullen whispered. "I want to see you weak and wanting." He pressed himself against her back. "Let me in and this rapture will last a lifetime."

His words were given sweetly, but each fell on Rhian like a hammer to a smith's anvil. The water grew thick, the atmosphere sour. Her movements were slow, her limbs heavy and weighted. Then he was in front of her, though he was no longer the Cullen she knew. Rhian realized he never had been. The specter moved toward her like a predator about to capture its prey. Rhian could see the Fade swirling around her, giving a loose form to the demon in front of her.

"You are just a delicious young thing." The demon cooed, its claws grazing over Rhian's knee affectionately. "I'd like to see this Templar of yours with my own eyes."

Rhian knew she shouldn't panic, but everything had been exposed and laid bare, to a demon no less. How was she going to regain her footing after that? "Stay away."

The demon allowed itself a light laugh. "It's cute that you think it would be that easy."

Rhian swallowed her fear. "It is that easy. If you cannot persuade your prey, you cannot possess it."

"You're a studious little mageling, aren't you?" The demons claws raked into Rhian's knee. "But how sure are you I can't take what I want by force?"

Pouring energy into a barrier, Rhian braced herself, but she was torn from the Fade before she could finish. Her body shot forward and she gasped as the splash of cold water hit her face. A squalling mass of wet fur tried in vain to rescue itself from her bath. She threw the cat out of the water and stood, breathing heavily.

Her hands trembled as she dressed in her night shift and wrapped a sitting robe around her shoulders. Rhian summoned a wisp and left the dormitories on swift feet. She knew she could not afford to sleep that night.


	4. Tomes

9:28 Dragon - Circle of Magi, Ferelden

The library was her sanctuary as she knew it was for many others, but tonight, Rhian found no solace between the mouldering pages of ancient texts. It had been several hours since her encounter with the desire demon, and Rhian had thumbed through volumes on demon possession, wards, and safety traversing the Fade. She had found little to soothe her anxiety.

Rhian sighed, gathering a pile of dusty books in her arms while a wisp flitted about her head. The shelves towered above her on all sides, creaking every so often as the wood settled between the shifting spaces empty of books. Her steps, soft as she tried to keep them, seemed to echo and loosely fill the space around her. There was still a section of the library she hadn't checked, though Rhian doubted the religious texts could offer much assistance as this point.

She made a wide turn, attempting to accommodate the pile of books that rested precariously against her shoulder and chin. Her foot collided with an unexpected obstacle, and Rhian could not stop the top books from flying to the ground. A tired groan sounded from the floor.

"That's alright. Alright. Didn't need my head anyway." The young man collected Rhian's books, as well as the one that had been resting open on his lap. Rhian's wisp drifted toward him, lighting up Cullen's familiar but exhausted face. His candles had burned down to nothing.

The sight of him looking up at her in hazy confusion before recognition settled in, brought her memories of the bath screaming to the surface. Rhian straightened, hurriedly moving the books still in her hands to the long table nearby. She jumped when Cullen's arm stretched near her own to follow suit and set down the other volumes. Rhian hoped he was too tired to have noticed.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, as much out of awkward habit as it was to smooth the kinks away. "I guess I lost track of the time." He looked at Rhian, her head still turned away from him, locked on to the covers in front of her. Cullen had never seen Rhian with her hair down, loose and hanging below her shoulders. If he hadn't recognized her when she startled him awake, he would've thought she was some spirit. "Do you think it's early or late?"

She didn't answer.

"Rhian," Cullen leaned over, curious to catch a glimpse of her face behind the thick curtain of her hair. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder and could feel how she trembled. "I didn't mean to scare you before. I've been down here studying for my exam on Chantry history. There's only so much of that you can take before your mind starts to wander, you know?" He gave her his best attempt at a smile given his lack of energy.

Rhian took a deep breath before turning around. She stepped up close to Cullen, did her best to avoid looking at his lips, and tilted her neck up slightly to fix him with an examining stare. She was determined to not fall for any more tricks, to never fall for them again. Her hands came up to either side of Cullen's face, lightly tracing his skin until they rested on his cheekbones. Rhian held his gaze, searching his eyes for the truth. They were soft, gentle even, and they did not hunger for her. They were innocent. Then Rhian saw her own desire reflected, flashed before her from deep within his sight. And she realized with a growing panic that her hands were warm against his face, and his gaze had never wavered. His blush rivaled her own, and they stepped apart.

"Sorry. Oh Maker, sorry." Rhian covered her mouth in embarrassment. "I-"

"Rough night for you too, huh?" Cullen had his arm behind his neck again, trying to rub the red away. He was nothing if not a gentleman. He watched as she wrapped her arms around herself, and not for the first time, Cullen found himself wanting to be the one to hold her.

"Cullen, have you ever…" Rhian didn't think it would be wise to tell him she'd encountered a demon, but she also didn't believe he'd tell anyone either. "It was just a nightmare. I-I wanted to make sure you were really," it must have sounded so strange, "well, you." 

For Rhian to be so guarded against him was unusual, especially since their friendship had grown and developed over the last few years. She had helped him navigate the library, readily healed any scrapes he picked up from combat training, and told him the most marvelous stories from all the books he would never have the time to read. As apprentices, they both knew the long hours and mental strain of their respective trades would be difficult. Cullen believed they had made an unspoken agreement to stand by each other to lessen that burden. And here she was in front of him, implying he was the cause of her sleepless night, that he had somehow caused her harm. "Tell me what happened, please."

He wanted to help, that was clear as anything. "If it's all the same, I'd rather not." Rhian tucked her hair behind an ear and felt the space between them shift as Cullen gently clasped her wrist.

"Rhian, I promise, as long as I'm here, I won't let anything happen to you." His fingers moved to hold hers, to secretly marvel at their warmth.

"That's not a promise you should make Cullen, though I'm glad you want to." She did not know if Cullen was just filling space with empty words or if he really had such a strong belief in her own confidence and ability. Rhian had yet to undergo her Harrowing, and if the night's terror was any indication, she had cause to worry. "But anyway," Rhian collected herself, freeing her hand from Cullen's. "As long as _I'm_ here, I promise you won't fail your upcoming exam."

Rhian risked sending out another wisp to brighten their area. She put her books to the side and took Cullen's book and some spare parchment with her to the other end of the table. She beckoned him over and proceeded to quiz him on what he should have already studied. Rhian watched as Cullen would twist his face in concentration, as he would shake sleep from his head, as he would glance off to the side while recalling key events in history. When he could answer no more questions, Rhian passed the thick volume across the table's polished surface so Cullen might continue to read.

She had been scrawling notes across the parchment, separating it into carefully creased columns, when Rhian looked up to see Cullen's head braced against his hand, eyes closed and exhaling slow breaths. How long had he been sleeping like that? A hint of a smile played across her lips. Night had gone from late to early in their time together, and Rhian finally felt warm and weary enough to want her bed.

Taking her scrap of parchment, Rhian stood and quietly pushed in her chair. The glow of her wisps warmed, grew amber and soft, like the patterns in Cullen's eyes. She shrugged out of her sitting robe and draped it over the young templar's shoulders, her fingers barely brushing against him. The parchment she gingerly placed along the center of the book, crossing over Cullen's resting arm to ensure it would be in his line of sight upon waking.

His strong hand snapped her arm up like a trap springing fresh from the ground. He tugged Rhian in close. Close enough that she could smell the wood chips from his training session earlier in the day. Close enough she could see the sleep-laden calm in his eyes, the quiet determination coupled with a desire different from her memory. Close enough that their lips touched, one caressing the other for moments drawn from seconds.

\---

Cullen rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to daylight filtering in through the stained-glass windows. He had a vague memory of Rhian running off into the night, running away from him. His cheek was raw and red from being stuck to a book all night, but that wasn't anything he could help now. A robe fell from his shoulders as he stretched, sending up a faint scent of lavender as it pillowed on the stone floor. An image from the previous night, Rhian bent over the table writing on some piece of parchment as the light from her wisps kept the shadows at bay, drifted across his mind. 

There was a list of books in the center of the one he had rather unceremoniously drooled upon during the night. The books were arranged by subject and author, with general summaries covering the margins in Rhian's smooth and tilted script. Cullen took Rhian's notes and closed his marked book before reaching down to pick up the grey robe. The sleeves were long and thin, worn at the elbows and around the cuffs. She must have worn it often. He shook his head. That didn't matter right now; it probably shouldn't have mattered at all.

He'd cleaned up, collecting the candle nubs and the pieces of herself Rhian had left behind, when Cullen noticed the stack of books at the far end of the table. Rhian had left them in her hurry. He craned his neck to read the spines, scanning their titles until he came to The Maker's First Children.


	5. Demons

9:29 Dragon - Circle of Magi, Ferelden

 

Rhian heard the screams as she was turning down the corridor to the dormitories. She felt the onslaught of heat as fire and smoke roiled into one, threatening to claim everything from the ground up. The children were screaming and she could hear shouts from the older ones calling for water, for ice spells, help, anything. The doors had been blocked from the outside, furniture and grease fueling the flames. Her mind raced, trying to recall how many apprentices had perfected their barrier techniques, how many had reasonable control over elemental magic, how long it would take for the senior enchanters to realize what was happening and make it to the lower level. Rhian's eyes widened. Where were the templars? There were always a couple making the rounds at this time of night, to have seen no sign of them…

An explosion rattled the stones several hundred yards in front of her. A scream of utter pain shrilled through the hall, joining those coming from the dormitories. Rhian hesitated. She was only one mage, there was no way for her to halt the blazes in all the dorms. She would have to trust that the senior enchanters, the other templars, _someone_ , would come to help before the other apprentices' energy was spent. That explosion must have been the source of the fires, and the memory of that one scream was what drove Rhian forward.

No matter what it was Rhian could have expected, she wasn't prepared for the sight she found. The two templars who'd been patrolling this level were backed into a corner, one lying on the ground in a heap, while the other had her hands drawn into her chest, doubled over in pain. A mage stood before them, an apprentice, his shoulders hunched forward, his body emanating a vicious heat. He muttered words she couldn't catch.

As soon as he raised his hand toward the templars, Rhian threw up a barrier, saving them from the harsh fire set on their destruction. The mage turned, somewhat surprised that things were deciding not to go according to plan. Rhian's stomach dropped as she looked at the young man's face. His eyes were alight with flame, his face a mass of steaming burns that continuously healed before the skin burned away again and again, endlessly corrupting his body.

She was so transfixed on the horror in front of her, she didn't see the fireball coming. It caught Rhian along her left side, flames latching to her robes, desiring to burn through everything she was. She had enough sense then to clamp a hand down on her side and coat it in ice before facing the mage again. But she knew now with the utmost certainty, after feeling the unbridled hatred in that spell, that this was no longer a mage, but an abomination.

"I know you, demon."

The hunched shoulders shuddered, a raw laugh escaping the creature's throat. "It does not matter. You will burn, burn with all the rest." Its hands clenched into fists, the smile spreading across the maddened face, a hot red. "And I will feed on this elf's anger, his hatred of all Templars, all Circles, all who stand in my way."

Rhian wanted it to keep talking, wanted it to stay distracted so she might move to the templars' side as their barrier faded. If she could somehow keep them safe, they could regain their footing, use their abilities. She chanced a look at the pair. They needed serious healing to be able to fight, and she could not risk that while drawing the demon's attention. She also knew the spells she had in her arsenal were unfocused at best. Rhian would not be able to subdue this creature with her powers as they were.

"The senior enchanters will be here with our entire host of Templars."

The laugh she was met with in response gurgled from deep within the creature's body, boiling up until molten lava ran from its lips. "Those doors were barricaded by more than pitch and grease."

The sickening realization that the senior magi and other templars would be of little help rooted Rhian's feet to the floor. She would have sworn her heart stopped. The apprentices would die. These two templars would die. She would die. And Rhian felt a pit open in her stomach while her cheeks grew hot.

"Yes. I can feel your anger, your delicious rage." The abomination came toward her, every step sizzling against the stone. "Give me more."

When its clawed fingers reached out for her braid and the waves of heat pounded against her flesh, Rhian's body lurched away, instinct throwing her in the direction of the templars. Her head jerked back, the smell of singed hair wrapping around her nose, threatening to suffocate her. Rhian's hands flew up in a panic, ice shivving through the hair at the nape of her neck. She fell forward, smacking against the stone at the templars' feet. The cold floor told her she was still alive, still able to move.

She erected another barrier around the three of them. The man slumped against the wall made no noise. Rhian couldn't tell if he was even breathing.

"I can't - I can't pick up my sword!" The woman next to Rhian was still keeping her hands close to her chest. They must have been seriously burned if she couldn't even stand to touch her weapon.

Rhian picked up the blade. The steel was the heaviest thing she'd ever held. She knew she would never be able to swing it.

"The little mageling wants to be a warrior?" The creature's steps were slow, heavy.

Rhian had never seen combat, only the games the Templars played in the training yard. But she'd seen enough to know that she could not allow the demon to come any closer. "You wanted to be a monster, so I guess we're even."

She pointed the sword at the demon, her arm straining with the weight. If she could just channel her power through the blade, there might be hope.

\----

Rhian's breath was coming in ragged gasps. Her mana was dangerously low with having to sustain a barrier and continue her attacks. Pockets of ice lined the walls, some had quenched the fires in the main hall, but they had never reached the intended target, not a single one. She had fallen to one knee after the last attempt. Her shortened hair reeked of soot and sweat, and her clothes were singed from the creature's blasts of fire. She was the demon's entertainment, little more than a plaything that would die after the amusement ran thin.

"Water, get some damned water on those blazes!" Rhian could have sworn it was the Knight-Commander's voice.

So they'd made it through. She bowed her head against the sword's pommel in relief. Everything would be fine. They'd be safe.

The demon raged, his shout filling the air and causing the flames to rise higher, to dare reinforcements to face him. Rhian could see shapes on the other side of the creature's wall of fire, and for a few precious moments, she knew the beast would be distracted. Rhian pulled herself to her feet, her eyes heavy with the effort. Her left side screamed from the earlier burn, the muscles tight and aching. Gripping the sword in both hands, she took a step toward the abomination. She forced every ounce of mana she had left, every measure of her will, every desire for this to end into her fingers. She watched as the tendrils of energy seeped from her hands and twined around the blade like smoke. She urged ice to mould around her hands, covering the pommel and hilt of the sword, securing it to Rhian's body as if she and the blade were one. Cold radiated from the blade, the ice lengthening across it to an even sharper point. She took another step. Frost was spreading across the floor from her feet, lacing up the walls and threatening to crack the stone. The abomination turned.

She felt her body chill to the bone as she thrust the blade through the creature. She felt the steam from the demon hit her face as she came within inches of its own. She felt a blast of frigid air and her body fading away into someone's arms.


	6. Pressure

Something warm and damp was on her forehead, little streams falling down the sides of her face with a few running into her eyes.

"Careful with that! You're to squeeze it first!" Words, sharp, clucking like an old hen, Enchanter Candice. The smell of clean linen and herbs, the infirmary.

"Ah. Right. Sorry ma'am. Right." Gentle, punctuated breaths of worry. Calloused fingers finding all the drops, lingering, caressing, gentle. Cullen.

Rhian opened her eyes. The infirmary was empty save for one or two beds where the soft hum of healing magic thrummed in her ears. She felt a soft pressure against her hand, tingling through her fingertips. Rhian's gaze fell to the side of the bed, to where Cullen's hand was wrapped around her own.

"You're awake. Thank the Maker!" His voice was soft, soothing, like the balms they must have put on her wounds. She made to sit up. "No, you shouldn't try to move. Enchanter Candice said it might shock your system if you move too soon."

"Well, how long have I been here exactly?" Rhian tested the movement in her toes, her feet, ankles, all the joints she could without over worrying the templar at her side.

"Five days."

She balked, "Was it that bad?"

He let go of her hand and leaned forward in his chair. "It's been kind of crazy since they found you. Ser Davis didn't make it. They said he was dead when they found the three of you." A frown grew on his face. "Some are blaming you."

Rhian couldn't believe she had to let that settle in, couldn't believe it was even a plausible idea. "What about the apprentices? Did they get out in time; are they alright?"

"Mm." He didn't want to tell her.

Rhian raised a bandaged hand to touch Cullen's steepled fingers. "Cullen, are they safe?"

"You couldn't have saved everyone. That was meant to be our job." He cupped her hand between his and held her gaze for a time. "We lost about a dozen mages before we were able to break through, a few more from the injuries. Your friends, Anders and that younger one, they're fine."

"Why aren't they-"

"The Knight-Commander and First Enchanter agreed it would be best if you were kept away from the others. Just, just for a while. Until everything is sorted."

Rhian pulled her hand away. Until everything was sorted? Until _what_ was sorted? What exactly had happened after she'd struck that abomination? Had it somehow survived? Escaped? She touched her chest. Was that possible? To change hosts so quickly? She couldn't bring herself to look at him as the question left her lips in a whisper, "Do they think I've turned into one?"

The old creak of the First Enchanter's voice answered her, "No Rhian, we do not believe you have been possessed by the same creature that took Surana." Irving scratched the tip of his nose. "But that does not lesson the fears of the other apprentices." He waved a hand to dismiss Cullen, and took the templar's seat.

"Greagoir and I have decided you will not be returning to the dormitories with the other apprentices. For your safety as well as theirs."

"But First Enchanter, I didn't-"

He held up his hand for her silence. "You made a choice Rhian, a very difficult one. That choice cost no fewer than sixteen lives, including that of Ser Davis. Can I, in all certainty, say that your decision saved more lives than had you chosen differently?" Irving pursed his lips. "I cannot." He adjusted his robes so that he might lean back more comfortably against the chair. "You could have helped us break through the door. You could have helped those unfortunate souls trapped in their beds. But you didn't. You chose to sacrifice fifteen people to save two templars, one of whom died."

"I chose to find and stop the source, if I could. I didn't know the upper levels had been blocked off. And I knew more would have died if I went to warn the senior magi."

"And how could you have known this? Are you all-seeing? Do you know the future?"

Rhian bowed her head, looking at her bandages. "First Enchanter, I am an apprentice. I made the decision to trust in you and my fellow mages to protect themselves. I did not have the ability to save everyone."

"No? Even though you not only subdued a demon of rage singlehandedly, but also completely froze over yourself, the abomination, and the boots of five templars several feet away?"

She stared at him blankly. "Wait, what?"

Irving chuckled, smiling that secret grin he seemed to be so well-known for. "I must say, you actually managed to surprise me after all these years. Where did you learn that technique?"

Rhian had no idea what the old man was talking about. Technique? There had been no technique, rather a rampant and desperate hope that something stupid would work. "I didn't have a way to focus my energy without a staff. The sword was my only option." She clenched her jaw before adding, "I wasn't going to die like that."

"No, I wouldn't think so." Seemingly satisfied with her story, Irving stood, his back taking its time to straighten out again. "There will be a hearing of senior magi and the higher ranking Templars in a few days. I do not believe you have much to worry about. Ser Rydell, who witnessed your struggle, said it was because of you she survived, though her hands will never fully heal. I do not think Greagoir understands exactly what happened, but I believe he understands why you made your choice." Irving lightly patted her on the head with a smile. "Ser Cullen will be looking after you in the meantime."

Once Irving departed, Cullen returned to Rhian's side, intensely flustered.

"What is it?"

"N-nothing. Uh, I'm to take you to the guest quarters whenever you're ready. That's, that's all." He waved away his blush the best he could.

Rhian moved her arms to brace her weight, pulling her knees toward her chest in preparation to sit up and finally leave the infirmary. Needles seared up her left side, draining the color from her face as she yelled out in pain, falling back against the sheets. Enchanter Candice was there in seconds, hands hurriedly seeking out the hurt.

"A burn like this isn't going to disappear in five days, Amell. Not even with my skilled hands." Soft energy found its way under the bandages and into Rhian's skin. "You'll have to take some of this every few hours if the pain gets too bad." She handed Rhian a flask filled with an inky purple liquid. Rhian wanted to gag just looking at it.

"Alright Ser Templar, off you go with her. That bed needs fresh linens."

"But, she's not," Cullen's bewilderment drew Candice's sternest look, "she's not supposed to move! … Right?"

"So hold her gently! I don't have the luxury of time to debate it with you. Now go!"

Enchanter Candice went about her duties as Cullen collected himself. He gave Rhian a quiet apology as he bent down beside her, scooping her legs up in one arm and gently collecting the rest of her against his chest. Rhian was lighter than he'd imagined. He saw her wince and apologized once more as he carried her from the infirmary.

The halls were almost too silent to bear as Cullen carried her past the familiar faces of her peers. After meeting the eyes of the first few, Rhian couldn't take it any longer. All she saw was fear, resentment, but most often it was anger. Wretched anger that she'd let their friends die.

"Close your eyes." She turned her head into Cullen's chest, glad of the shelter the steady rhythm of his heart provided.

\----

"We're here." Cullen whispered it into her hair, soft and muted.

The room held two chambers partially separated by a tall wall that kept each bathing area from view. There was a thin slit in the masonry, more for fresh air than for light. A table with a set of chairs sat in the middle near the door. Enchanter Candice had stocked the room with herbs and other medicines Rhian might need in the coming days, and these were packed in a wooden box atop the table.

"Set me on the table. Please." Rhian knew it was an unusual request. "I'm afraid if I went back to a bed, there'd be not getting up again." She looked up at him, doing her best to smile as if this were all a joke.

The old wood groaned, but held firm as Cullen set her down. Rhian clung to his arm as she adjusted her position, desperately hoping she wouldn't fall over and that the terrible concoction Enchanter Candice had cooked up had begun to work. "Cullen," she pulled him to stand in front of her so she wouldn't have to turn to face him. "Tell me what happened. Tell me what I've missed."

"Maybe you should wait until the hearing."

"I have been lying in the infirmary for _five_ days. People are dead, and I'm somehow being blamed for making an impossible choice. Everyone is looking at me like I knew this was going to happen."

"Didn't you?" The question was out almost as soon as he thought it. And Cullen knew he'd regret ever letting it cross his mind in the first place. He cringed as soon as he heard the disbelief in her voice.

"How could you ask me that? Of course I didn't know!" The question hurt, her throat tightened, fearing where this conversation might lead.

"But those books from the library, they were all about demons and possession."

Rhian's eyes went wide, and her body began to tremble. She'd all but forgotten about why she'd run across Cullen in the library that night. She didn't know how, but she knew this would somehow be used against her. She knew it wouldn't end well, especially if word got back to the senior magi, to Irving, to the Knight-Commander. They'd call it blood magic. They'd make her tranquil. They'd rid themselves of her.

"Hey, hey." Cullen rubbed her arms. "It's alright. I put the books away the following morning. Everything will be fine." He didn't quite believe that, but Cullen hated seeing Rhian at such a complete loss, so anxious and afraid. "But, can I ask, if you didn't know this would happen, why were you so bent on studying those books that night?"

Her head bowed against his chest as she sighed. Rhian waited for him to move back, but Cullen stood his ground giving her this moment. "That night I found you in the library, I had a dream about you."

"What, really? About me?"

"Yes." The knot in her throat thickened. "There was a demon. It had your face. And I, I almost…"

"What? You almost what?"

Trying to tell him everything was impossible. "It did things. Said things. Things I didn't know I wanted."

Cullen stiffened, and Rhian knew she'd have to face him. She brought her head up, pushing herself away from his chest with her hands. His heartbeat pounded against her palm. "And then I saw you, and how could I have been sure it wasn't just another trick? And then you-"

His lips were smooth, eager, and Rhian had lost herself in them the moment she'd realized what had happened. Her mouth opened to him, hungered, and Cullen's scent radiated through her, firing sparks from every inch of her body. She barely registered her hands along his jaw, roughing at the shadow of a beard. Rhian's nightmare flashed through her mind, and she drew back with such speed, it left them both dizzy. "Cullen, I, we can't."

His expression softened into sadness, as if he'd just lost everything that mattered. Rhian had never seen him wear such a face. "I thought you were dead," he said quietly, "burning alive in the flames with the rest of them. Then they carried your body away, blue from the cold. When I heard what happened, I just… They wouldn't let anyone in to see you, wouldn't tell us if you were okay, wouldn't even tell us if they could save you." Cullen's fingers ran through her shortened hair. "Right now, I don't care. You are here in front of me, alive and breathing. Just let me have this one precious moment of relief, of gratitude that your touch is still warm against my hands."

Rhian took his hand from her hair and squeezed it, looking up at Cullen with eyes as broken as his own. He cleared his throat and backed away, saying half-heartedly that he had other matters to take care of, and he closed the door behind him.

She didn't know how long she sat there, playing over what Cullen had said; it felt like hours. Rhian imagined time just stopped outside of this room, that nothing and no one existed beyond that heavy oak door. The mirror near her bed caught Rhian's movement, and she slowly shifted her body to look at her reflection. She didn't recognize the young woman staring back at her, bandaged and wrapped, hair an unwashed charcoal mess. It was the first time she saw the light in her eyes dim.

\----

After the trial of undressing and bathing, Rhian did not have the energy to dry herself off. She stood naked in front of that damned mirror, dripping wet, pouring over the new changes, the new body she would see every day. The one she'd somehow have to get used to if not accept. The burned flesh along her side twisted, raking its way up from just above her left hip to the middle of her back. Rhian could feel the raw mark at the nape of her neck, though it had not been as severe as the wound on her side. Her hair, though freshly washed, continued to unsettle her. She looked like a mage who would have done something like this, someone who deserved the guilt. She threw a towel over the glass.

\----

"That took longer than expected. They had to hunt for a matching set of gauntlets." Cullen carried his templar armor under his arm, his mood lightened by the new commission. He placed everything on the table before finding Rhian sitting on the bed, naked save for her small clothes and a towel covering her front. Her hair was in damp twists, frizzled at the ends. "Rhian, why are you…" His eyes were drawn to the covered mirror and then to Rhian's back where he took in the full extent of her scars, an angry pink against her dark skin.

"I can't wrap them properly." Her voice was stale while her shoulders remained straight, rigid, fighting to hold her up and keep her steady. "I'm not supposed to see anyone, so I couldn't," she sighed, "I couldn't do it myself."

"What should I do? I can get Enchanter Candice; she shouldn't be too busy."

Rhian was surprised by Cullen's eagerness. "Oh, no, no, that would be… no. I made something that will help." She held up one hand, sticky with a dark green salve. "I don't know if it will work, but I'd rather she not chastise me for trying. The salve needs to go on the burns. I did what I could, but it's not spread evenly."

Rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, Cullen took a handful of the salve, his nose wrinkling at its potency. He sat on the bed next to Rhian and did his best to keep focused on the task. As he laid his fingers on her flesh, he could't help his eyes drifting over the small swell of Rhian's chest and the smooth curves of the rest of her body. He went slowly, glad Rhian was not paying attention to the steady blush that was slowing reaching his ears. Despite the burns, Cullen could feel the softness of her, the light muscles beneath his fingers and the temptation to break away from his touch. He moved pieces of her hair away with his free hand to bare her neck, admiring the elegant line as it curved delicately upward.

"You're hot."

Rhian turned her head so quickly, her nose bumped into Cullen's arm. "Excuse me?" She saw his crimson face and this realization washed across her own.

"I, I mean… your skin. Your uh, temperature."

"Mmm. It's fine." She adjusted her towel, wiping her hand clean of the salve on her fingers. "You should wash your hands before getting the gauze."

Cullen went to the wash basin as instructed, but paused when he noticed the bloody cloth draped over the tub, flecked with dead skin. How long had she been prodding at her wounds?

"Cullen, I'm fine." She wiggled her fingers at him, "Healing hands remember? Now I need yours." He never seemed to stop worrying about her, but Rhian supposed she gave him plenty of cause these days.

Cullen was just unraveling some of the gauze to set to work on Rhian's torso when he realized she still held the towel between them. He cleared his throat, "Uh, hmm, this might be… um your t-towel, it's uhm. I should…"

Rhian stood with some difficulty. "Close your eyes."

"Wha- close my eyes? That's your plan? Close them? How's that going to help?"

"I'll walk you through it."

"Ha. You'll just, what exactly?" He raised an eyebrow in as much concern as curiosity.

She set him with a minor glare. "You have three seconds to close your eyes for this to work."

It probably took him that long to assess her seriousness, and Cullen scrunched his eyes closed, half terrified she'd use those three seconds to do something terrible to him if he didn't heed her word. He felt the towel hit his boots as it fell between them. He was about to investigate, but Rhian's warm palm covered his eyes, her gentle pressure making him exhale in attempt to settle himself.

"I know this is awkward. I'll help you with taking it around." With her free hand, Rhian guided Cullen's around her body, doing her best not to focus on the roughness of his hands or the way his arms drew her in when he crossed over her back. He fumbled every now and then, but the wrapping was nearly done. A small gasp escaped her lips as Cullen's knuckles brushed under her breasts. He stopped.

Cullen drew her in close, a firm hand on her right hip. He bent to rip the gauze with his teeth, Rhian's hand still blocking his view. He tossed the spool to the side, his fingers then seeking to secure Rhian's wrappings and what lay above them. She pressed against his forehead, but Cullen leaned into her hand, his breath hot against her naked breast. His lips moved steadily, kissing her skin, finding their way up to the mound of nerves he was seeking. That was when Rhian's hand moved upward, her fingers skimming for a grip of his hair. The warmth of Cullen's tongue lavished Rhian's skin as he had that one piece of her in his mouth. He looked up at her, smiling to himself when he saw how Rhian turned her head away so he wouldn't see the pleasure, the sheer need on her face.

He stood and held her face in his hands with the utmost tenderness. "Tell me what you see. Tell me if I am a demon or a spirit and whether or not this is all in your head." They stood almost nose to nose, and Cullen saw in Rhian's eyes that she'd accepted she wasn't dreaming, though he couldn't have said the same for himself. He kissed her, his mouth hunting her out, familiarizing himself with her taste.

Cullen drew her slowly against the wall, keeping her hips close to his own so her back wouldn't be flush with the stone. Rhian felt him hard against her small clothes, his hand pressing her hips closer. Her heart pounded in every piece of her body, but it was the pulse between her legs that ached the most unbearably. Her arms wrapped around Cullen's neck, pulling his chest closer, her lips hungry for more of his. The soft moan Cullen let out hummed in Rhian's mouth. His thigh pressed for space between her own. Rhian jolted when it connected, his leg rubbing the fabric of her smalls against her clit. Cullen's tongue traveled after his kisses along her neck, his lips feeling their way to her lobe. His breathing was labored, heavy with desire as he whispered in Rhian's ear, "Tell me where to touch you."

"No, I-" her breath hitched as Cullen lifted his thigh and pressed closer to her. Cullen caught her in a deep kiss as soon as she opened her mouth in a small whimper. Rhian took his hand from her hip and guided it to just above her waistband. She hesitated for a moment before slipping his fingers between her legs.

He explored her, testing and teasing places he'd never felt, never thought he'd be able to imagine. She was wet between her folds, her warmth deliciously inviting. The sound of his barely whispered name stirred in him, his finger slowly sliding inside her. He drank Rhian in with his eyes, his finger beckoning against the soft walls of her body. She was biting her lip, her eyes closed under a brow knotted in pleasure. Cullen felt her rocking against his palm, rolling with the finger he was pulsing inside of her. He moved his body against her in the same moment he pressed a second finger between her folds. Rhian cried out and gripped his shoulders so intensely, Cullen wanted to take her as hard as he could right then, his own desire throbbing against his breeches.

Cullen's fingers moved inside Rhian with such focus, such determination that she could not help herself but bring him closer. Pleasure rippled down her skin, her muscles clenching around him, desiring more. She could not catch her breath, did not want to. She felt on the edge of a place that if she breathed, she'd be blown too far from everything. Her hand moved to Cullen's pants, fervently tugging at the laces, surprising herself with her sudden enthusiasm. She saw him shudder as she wrapped her fingers around him, hot and slick in her hand. His fingers inside her paused as she touched him, continuing only when she began to stroke him.

Heated kisses grew more urgent, desperate for the air of the other. Then Cullen's thumb found her clit, and the wet sounds his fingers made reached Rhian's ears, and her body tightened, spinning her nerves until they were raw. Her grip pulled at him fiercely, her moan barely making it to his mouth as Cullen fought to keep control and failed.

They leaned their heads forward to touch, their breathing ragged, the fire embraced between them calmed. Cullen withdrew his hand, leaving a trail of wetness behind. The heady scent of their sex hung about them like a veil. Cullen took Rhian's hand away and kissed her reddened face from chin to nose.


	7. Harrowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhian endures her Harrowing and Cullen questions whether or not the Order is worth the possibility of losing her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (07/08/17 - Updated this chapter with more content because I was inspired. Added the "Cadence" section as well for a more streamlined read.)

9:30 Dragon, Kinloch Hold, Ferelden

Several days had passed since Rhian had left the infirmary and taken up her brief residency with Cullen. They hadn't spoken about that first night, both recovering from the embarrassment of allowing themselves the freedom to break one of the unwritten rules of Chantry and Circle. But every now and again, they allowed themselves a glance, a gentle touch, small things they told themselves were beyond their control. There was warmth in the silences that passed between them, an affection neither of them knew how to voice.

Rhian was studying the chess board they'd abandoned the previous day, musing over the movement of a pawn, when Cullen came through the door, his head heavy and his eyes avoiding all but the floor.

"They've come to a decision." He whispered the word hoarsely, bringing his gaze up to find Rhian's. Cullen's face was a mask of dread, his brow knotted over eyes filled with fear and regret. He kept his back against the door, his hands pressed to steady himself. Nothing would ever come from what they had, from what they wanted, and he was ashamed he had hoped for it. 

Rhian set the pawn down off the board, her lips drawn together in fierce resolve. The templars and senior magi had finally made their decision, and only one would allow Rhian a life if she could face what they would throw at her. She could not allow herself to believe she'd be made Tranquil. Rhian would not fall prey to second-guessing the path before her, unknown as it was. She would triumph or she would die, and that choice was no choice at all. 

"You're Harrowing will be tomorrow." Cullen had seen Rhian's determination spread across her face, but he knew better. He had heard of the Harrowings, how they often went wrong, with mages' blood spilled on the chamber floor. "First light," he choked.

Cullen couldn’t tell Rhian that he’d be the one to end her life if she failed. She would have to live, battle whatever demon awaited her and win. There was no other option, he couldn’t... Her hand on his face calmed his shaking some, and Rhian looked through Cullen so completely and with such sense of purpose that for that moment, his uncertainty melted away. It was burned up and swallowed in her eyes, and he shut his, breathing in the smell of her skin.

"I... I only came in to tell you." He pulled away from her, allowing himself a few deep breaths to regain his composure. "I have duties I still need to attend to."

The Harrowing chamber still had to be prepared and the lyrium brought up from the vaults. The other templars had yet to be chosen, but Cullen was sure they would be veterans. Men and women who knew how to do what was necessary if it came to it. Templars who would give their lives to see the Circle free of abominations. He wanted to believe he could be one of them.

"You'll be back?"

Cullen nodded at the floor to avoid Rhian's gaze. "Late."

\---

Rhian was in bed by the time Cullen returned from the dining hall. He couldn’t understand how she could command her shoulders to rise and fall so steadily at a time like this. In a matter of hours, things would be different. She could be dead. He reached out a gloved hand, aching to turn her toward him, to look at her once more before hell fell down upon them. Cullen pulled his hand back, the leather clenching around his knuckles.

Greagoir had taken him aside at dinner and shared with Cullen a history few ever talked about. He told Cullen how admiration gave way to affection, and then in turn, to love. How the percentage of mages and templars who claimed it was love were fronting a lie bathed in situational lust. How even if it was love, the consequences were dire and the cost high. How everything would need to be different after Rhian’s Harrowing, because no true templar would forsake the cause to love the reason for which he was necessary.

With a heavy sigh and lowered shoulders, Cullen made his way to the other side of the room. Removing his armor so as not to wake Rhian was something of a trial, but he managed. Cullen studied the chest plate as it glared up at him from the bed, stark and shining in the candlelight. How was he to do good in this world, to do what he knew he was meant to, to do what he’d been dreaming of since childhood, if he could not keep himself from caring for the woman asleep in the other bed? They had spent so many years together, had grown in each other’s confidence, had endured everything, and for what? To become strangers within a tower that was little more than a cage for both of them? For their abilities to excel to the point that they would be able to cancel each other out? For them to be pitted against each other at some point down the road to better suit a political purpose?

He fell to his knees, his hands clasped together, pressing against his forehead. “Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What You have created, no one can tear asunder. Who knows me as You do?”

Cullen bit his lip, burrowing his brow further into his hands, desperately seeking answers. “You have been there since before my first breath. You have seen me when no other would recognize my face. You composed the cadence of my heart.”

The word was not past his lips when tentative fingers touched the curls of his head. All the fear came loose in a breath, thumbs digging into his temples to prevent despair from entering.

Rhian sat on the bed, her thigh resting against his elbow, her hands gentle around his own. Cullen cleared his throat, pushing his vulnerability aside. “I-I am sorry to have woken you.”

“You don't need to apologize. I was never asleep.” Rhian moved her finger in circles over his hand, slow and calm, giving Cullen something to focus on.

He chanced looking up at her from where he knelt against the floor. Rhian’s eyes looked tired, filled with worries of her own. She must have been pretending this entire time, since he first told her about the Harrowing. She must have carried herself in such a manner that Cullen would not have to be strong on her behalf. And here she was, taking that burden from him. He buried his face in the sheets, ashamed.

“Cullen,” Rhian squeezed his hands, “It doesn't help to be afraid. I know that, but I still...”

He barely raised his head before moving to wrap his arms around her waist, his chin shifting to her lap. They could be afraid together. They could endure this, somehow, together. He would hold her here until his arms grew too weak and frail to reach around her.

Rhian bent over him, her arms circling round his shoulders and back, drawing him as close to her as she possibly could. And she held Cullen with her cheek against his head as she whispered, “There is no darkness in the Maker’s Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”

\---

No one spoke as the line of templars an the First Enchanter led Rhian up the winding staircases of the tower. The silence was heavy; all but a few believed they were marching her to her death, and there was no sense trading words with a corpse. Rhian knew Cullen was fighting the instinct to stop in front of her, to bar the way froward, to give her a chance. She was only adding to the weight of his armor as he labored to keep placing one foot in front of the other.

The stained glass windows were alight in the dawn, a new day seeping into every corner of the room. Colors danced at the edge of the font where Rhian would enter the Fade.

“You will face a demon, armed with only your will. You will have neither staff nor sword to help you this time.” Irving mused, as if he were eager to see just how well Rhian would fare against such a creature in its own realm.

Greagoir, as gruff and serious as Rhian had ever seen him, walked up to her. “Know this Amell, no matter how gifted you think you are, no matter how determined, if you fail, we templars will do our duty. You will die.”

He waved a hand to Cullen, who withdrew a knife from his belt. The expression on his face was pained despite wishing to prove himself loyal to the cause. Greagoir’s outlook was equally grim, knowing all too well the price required when rules were ignored. “You have grown to trust each other, that is why Cullen will be the one to deliver the killing blow. If you return not as you are, he will know, and he will do what needs to be done.”

Irving placed a hand on Rhian’s shoulder. “I do not believe it will come to that.” He looked at her clenched jaw and set brow and admired how focused and unwavering she had become. “We have all had to face this trial by fire, and you will succeed as we have before you.”

They allowed Cullen to follow her to the font, to watch as the lyrium glowed and shifted. The energy in the room swayed and bubbled around Rhian, consuming her from where her fingers had touched the magic. The pull was slow at first, merely an incessant tug. But then the light was pouring in and her breath was stolen away, and Rhian heard nothing but a song pealing through her mind, ripping all else from her grasp.

\---

Greagoir knew; he had probably known the entire time. Cullen steeled himself as Rhian stepped toward the font of lyrium. He was the one who was to end her life if she became an abomination. His insides froze and shattered as Rhian’s spirit entered the Fade and her body fell into his arms, his dagger poised against her throat. Cullen was glad his back was toward the other templars, glad they could not see his feelings laid bare as the woman he’d loved lay limp against him. 

As steady as he held her, the hand gripping the dagger shook. He did not want this. He wanted to run, to pick her up in his arms and take her as far away as they could go, to live a life where neither had to fear the potential of killing the other. 

The First Enchanter paced around the room, muttering to himself about things Cullen didn’t have the heart to listen to. Irving knew, just as Greagoir had, though Cullen wanted to believe the First Enchanter would have spared him this demonstration of loyalty, if that’s really what it should be called. 

The other templars’ struck up a conversation in hushed whispers, Greagoir not bothering to intercede.

“The last one took thirty minutes before he came to.”

“I’d rather have it over and done with. Would save us all some time if she’d just become an abomination and we could get on with it.”

“Not likely.”

“No? That demon on the lower floors… she’s probably already been tempted before.”

“She does seem younger than the other apprentices they’ve harrowed lately…”

“She is. The younger ones don’t know how to control themselves.”

“That or they’re over confident and reckless.” 

Damn them. Brothers and sisters or not, damn them all. Cullen could hardly restrain himself from rounding on them, from praising Rhian’s abilities while he secretly doubted how capable she was. He was scared - for her, for himself, for the fragile thing they had built together over the years that could very well be lost today. He was terrified.

“She’ll succumb soon enough. Just watch. The body seizes just before it happens.”

\---

Rhian could not feel the ground beneath her feet, though she was quite sure it was there. She glanced upward, her eyes adjusting to the dark sky. The world was floating about her in crooked pieces, twisted into shapes she could barely find familiar. Wisps thrummed their magnetic energy at each other as Rhian followed the only path set before her feet. There were whispers, catches of secrets and dreams, that drifted through her, tugging at curiosity. The half-conversations twined around each other until they became one, and Rhian found herself listening as she walked.

“It’s not right what they do, sending us here alone against a demon. They’ll kill you, you know. That’s what they did to me, because I took too long.”

The words had taken shape, forming a man to walk by her side. Rhian stopped short. She knew she had not willed him into being, had not formed him from any passing thought or memory. The man stop some distance from her, gesticulating his concern for her safety as he made clear his disgust for the whole notion of the Harrowing.

“They’re using you as bait. You are a tease for the creatures that dwell here. I’ll help you find a way out if you like.”

Rhian was wary, knowing full well that nothing could be trusted in this realm, that she was alone and easy prey. “Why would any spirit offer to help with this trial?”

“Oh I get it, believe me, but there are a few spirits who would take pity on our plight.”

Continuing forward, Rhian eyed the man skeptically. “I don’t need any creature’s pity, least of all in this place.”

He smiled, and something about how his teeth settled into the grin gave Rhian goosebumps.

“I’m Mouse by the way.” He kept pace with her, far too eager to be in her company.

“I don’t care what you call yourself.”

“Ah come now, there’s no need to be rude. I’m just trying to help.” His enthusiasm set her on edge.

“I doubt it’s because of your good nature.” Rhian bent down to examine a lyrium vein, the blue mass erupting around her, filling her blood with a raw power that sparked out from her fingers. “Be gone with you; I do not have time for the constructs of a weak mind.” The electric shock sent Mouse scurrying away, his body having transformed into that of a rat.

As Rhian continued to wander the Fade, new voices found her and formed into words. Some glossed over feelings, emotions polished smooth over time, and others carried melodies away from days long forgotten. But over all of them, she heard quite clearly the whispered echo, “You are being hunted.” They were playful, eager to terrorize and sow the worry that whatever it was, was drawing closer.

She shook her head, doing what she could to clear away all voices but her own. If she was being hunted, better to wait for whatever creature stalked her and draw it out. Rhian sat down, taking time to think rather than endlessly walk the shifting wastes of the Fade. This place did not feel like her dreams. The environment here was stale, familiar to the whims and trials of the Tower. The spirits, the voices, the Harrowing was too well-known to them. This place was an arena, a stage for a show these creatures had been seeing for years.

A shimmer in the Fade appeared next to Rhian, and a silver warrior stepped out from it. He radiated a warmth that beat through her spirit, reaching out to show he would do her no harm. She relaxed. “It would be kinder if they pitted you against each other - mage against mage - rather than send you here alone and unprepared.”

The spirit wore armor she didn’t recognize, and carried itself with a lightness that defied the gore and depravity of battle. “It would do little to test our will then, spirit.”

“Perhaps.” The spirit paced around Rhian, taking it’s time to examine what she had to offer. “The Fade is shaped by the power of your will, but here, who is to say your influence and motivations are pure and will lead you to the brightest and most blessed of victories?”

“And what is the most blessed of victories, spirit? Everyone has an ideal, but who has honestly realized it, in all your existence? In this place, who’s to say your idea of victory is the same as mine, is as worthy as mine?”

The spirit voiced his agreement. “That is where the danger lies, for though you may be able to shape the Fade and bend it to your will, it has a far greater possibility of shaping you.”

“Are you saying I will fail?”

“No mage, I am saying that your belief in failing will ensure your failure.”

Rhian frowned. “That is not why I am here.” She stood, deciding it was a goal for all manner of spirits to make mortals feel inferior either by spiritual prowess or the use of riddles.

“But it is why you’ll return, over and over again, to be certain.” The spirit’s light faded, melted back into another part of the Fade, done with its speeches for mages who had fallen into the trap of their Harrowing.

 ---

Twenty minutes in and Cullen’s hand was no longer shaking. He had repositioned himself over Rhian’s body, as much for his own comfort as to shield her from the other templars should they suspect she’d turn. The dagger was still at her throat. He kept his attention on the steady rise and fall of her chest, the fluttering of her eyelids - signs she was still alive, still had a chance to come back as she was. The fingers on her casting hand twitched, and Cullen desperately wanted to grab hold of them to let her know he was still with her, still watching over her… even if it was with a blade against her life.

 

\---

It felt like Rhian had been going around in circles for hours. She’d been doing her best to ignore the whispers, the voices in her head giving all sorts of directions and advice. Mouse had reappeared, more in her mind than by her side. “You’re almost there you know. If you get rid of it, we’ll all be better off.”

The ground shook, Rhian’s steps growing unbearably hot the closer she came to the demon that had been tracking her. “Better off so you can be free to cause a different kind of chaos?”

A howl tore open the earth before her, flames frothing upward into limbs. Rhian froze. 

“Rage keeps us here,” Mouse went on. “Uses us a playthings, uses everyone, even you.”

Her memories of the Circle fire grew around her, the Fade shaping tongues of fire and clouds of smoke, pressing them closer around her in a tight circle. She was not angry; she was afraid. The scars on her back and neck throbbed, recalling the scorch of fire that had set her on this path in the first place. And even though she knew she was feeding this inferno, it took every ounce of willpower she had to appear calm, to not get lost in the destruction.

“One tried that once," she said shakily. Rhian racked her brain for the energy she'd used against the abomination in the tower. It had been frost, yes, but there had been something else as well, a desperate need. And as the demon raised itself from hell, Rhian remembered. Her mind urged a weapon to form in her hands, the only one she'd ever held before, and with it returned her confidence. "It didn’t end so well for him.”

Gurgling laughter rang around her, punctuated with bursts of flame. “Of all the things you could have chosen, you think a sword will do you the most good?”

“It will do well enough, demon.”

\---

Cullen rolled his shoulders forward, the armor lighter than the burden of what he was here to do. It had been half an hour. He told himself she would want this. That Rhian, more than any other mage, would understand the need to eradicate any and all abominations. Cullen told himself she would want him to be the one to end her life if that’s what it came to. He knew it was a hollow reassurance, that it wouldn’t really matter in the end, but he wanted to believe it did. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself otherwise.

“Has she moved yet?”

“Not much from what I can tell.”

“He’s being patient.”

“Surprised?”

“Think Rutherford will do it? He hasn’t drawn real blood yet.”

“He’ll have to eventually. Better now when she can’t fight back.”

“Think she will?”

“They all do.”

What was the Order worth, really? It couldn’t be as simple as mages versus templars, it couldn’t. Rhian was more than that, more than the Circle and the robes she wore. Maker he loved her, and he never took the chance to say so, not really. And here she was, all but in his lap and no idea her life was in his hands. Were the Templars really worth killing her for? Was magic as terrible as they had everyone believe? Not hers. Not Rhian’s. She made magic gentle, made it warm, made it into a shield to keep others safe. Cullen could never see her as a threat - would never see her that way. He relaxed his grip on the dagger, moving it away from her throat. He assured himself against the nagging doubt crawling up his spine that Rhian would succeed in her Harrowing, that she would prove all of them wrong.

\---

“You did it! You actually did it!” Mouse took his human form in front of Rhian. “When you came, I hoped that you might be able to...”

Rhian, somewhat breathless, pointed her blade at his throat. “Do not take me for a fool! A demon of rage would not be so easily defeated!” She angled the sword close, the weapon humming with energy. The battle had barely begun when she'd finished off the creature. It hadn't been nearly as powerful as the one in the Circle, and the Fade was where these creatures were at their strongest.

Mouse raised his hands in surrender. "Perhaps you're stronger than you realize! Only a powerful mage could subdue such a demon so easily!"

Rhian raised the spirit blade closer to Mouse's chest, unconvinced.

He put his hands down and grinned, his smile flashing in Rhian's mind with the fangs of a predator. “You can be so much more than you know!”

Rhian sensed the change in energy, the quickening pace of the voices rushing through the currents of the Fade. It would have been safer to withdraw her weapon, but to back down now would betray weakness, and somehow she knew it would be the end of her. She gathered her courage and challenged him instead. “And how exactly would a mage, long-dead, know anything about what I’m capable of?”

Mouse chuckled, “You are a smart one. Simple killing is a warrior’s job."

He changed. His voice grew deep and menacing, the sound of nightmares. His body grew large and knotted, spreading out and turning shadows into spines, fingers into talons. "The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust... pride."

The demon spread his arms wide as he gazed down at Rhian, each eye focused and on her, waiting for her. "This is no place for a weak mind.”

She knew she could not defeat this creature, despaired that Circle would even create this arena for the sake of testing apprentices against a pride demon. The Templars would not have to kill her, she would die here.

The demon laughed, a hollow and terrible sound. “Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end.”

\---

Rhian’s eyes shot open, searching wildly for something familiar as she raked in a deep breath, as if she hadn’t tasted air for all the time she’d been in the Fade. Cullen braced her shoulders firmly against the floor, hoping it was enough to ground her back in this reality. Rhian’s hand flew up to claw at a gauntlet, hunting for the weapon she knew they would use. Cullen had left it on the floor beside him as soon as she’d woken. 

“Shhh. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

Rhian stilled as soon as she recognized Cullen was the one kneeling over her. Their eyes met, and Cullen breathed an airy sigh of relief that she had returned unpossessed. But Rhian, her eyes betrayed far more fear than he had ever seen. Whatever she had gone through, it had terrified her. 

“Ah. Well done.” The First Enchanter’s voice raised above the whispers of the other templars. “Well done, indeed.”

Irving moved to help Rhian to her feet, allowing her a moment to steady herself before he led her from the chamber. Cullen watched as her expression changed, noticed she didn’t look to him or any of the other templars. He saw how she didn’t put full trust into Irving’s hands as they guided her toward the doorway. And the thought occurred to Cullen that Rhian had somehow known he’d held a dagger to her throat, and that maybe, she was more terrified of him than whatever she’d encountered in the Fade.

Whether it was true or not, Cullen knew that she had been irrevocably changed, and his heart sank.

 


	8. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Lady Caerlyn Cousland, Lady Juno Aeducan, and Istrum Brosca on their way to Ostagar via Kinloch Hold with Duncan. Short and not so sweet.

“You can open your eyes, my lady.” Istrum had a blade of grass between his teeth, reveling in the freshness of being topside. It wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone had made it seem. Like they’d even known what they were talking about. Everything was bright and cool. Colors he’d never even imagined could be glimpsed by a simple turn of the head. Casteless to Topsider to Warden. That sounded just fine to him.

The reins were loose in one hand as he turned around to catch a glimpse of his traveling companion. She was calmer now than she had been when they’d first left the mountains, and her face wasn’t scrunched up to seal out the light. But she still had her eyes shut and still kept a firm grip on the side of the cart.  
   
“We are the same now. You don’t have to call me that anymore.”

He turned back to face the road, making sure Duncan and Lady Cousland didn’t gallop too far ahead. “I may not have to, but sometimes we like the sound of something familiar in the face of something strange.”

Istrum heard the skepticism in Lady Aeducan’s laugh. He clicked his tongue against his teeth to urge the mule on a bit faster. “You could go by any name now. None would be the wiser.”

“Except you, it would seem.”

“Well, me and that Gorim fellow you mutter about in your sleep.” The cart jostled as the mule picked up its pace, and Istrum quickly adjusted to the movement. “He your special someone I take it?”

The silence behind him piqued the dwarf’s curiosity. He wondered with what color eyes she’d be staring daggers at him. Juno Aeducan’s face was hidden in her arms, propped up by her badly scraped knees. The only thing that found her gaze was the wood beneath her feet.

\---

Caerlyn was bitter and angry as she journeyed across Ferelden with Duncan at her side. The two dwarves they’d picked up in Orzammar trundled after them in a wagon not entirely up to the task of venturing over the vast stretch of road to Ostagar.

It had been weeks since she saw her whole family slaughtered before her. Weeks, and her anger still burned hot. Duty. That's what her father had said. Duty was more important than vengeance. Caerlyn no longer followed that code, and vowed she never would again. She was done with duty the moment her father lay bleeding out at her feet, the moment she clasped eyes on her nephew's twisted corpse, the moment she heard Ser Gilmore's final yell before the doors fell and Howe's men corrupted everything she had ever held dear.

She would join the Wardens. Caerlyn had had little choice in the matter, though she had been willing before all hell had breached the Cousland keep. Yes, she would join their ranks for whatever it meant, but only in so much as it would give her the skills she needed to kill Howe. She would bide her time until then.

"I am sorry about your family, sorry there was nothing I could do for your parents." Duncan's voice was warm, though Caerlyn noticed it was not tinged with regret. Duty. Duncan had fulfilled his.

Caerlyn did not look at the warden, had not looked at him since he pulled her away from the burning of her home. Rather, she spurred her horse further on, with Darius trotting along beside its heels.  

She could hear Duncan sigh behind her and spur his own horse to again ride side by side. "Your father told me you have been quite eager to prove yourself in battle. You will get the chance once we arrive at Ostagar. There are several other new recruits who have similar interests. Alistair is-"

"Duncan, I don't care. I don't care about your new recruits. I don’t care about the two in the cart or the one we’re headed for. I don't care about proving myself. And I don't care about this Blight. All that matters to me is finding my brother and killing Howe by whatever means necessary."

He remained silent for a moment before taking the reins of her horse and slowing them both to a standstill. She didn't even remember Duncan reaching for them. "My lady, I know you have lost much. And I know I am also asking a great deal of you at this time. We cannot afford to rest, to plot vengeance, not even to mourn." Duncan let this sink in, watching the shadow growing darker across Caerlyn's face. "Your family has always had the highest respect among the people of Highever, and their influence spread to Denerim and the Bannorn. They passed on to you a birthright and a duty to uphold that honor. I am passing on to you a greater responsibility, a more profound duty than they-"

"That sense of duty got them killed." Caerlyn turned a fierce look upon Duncan, unable to give voice to all the rage she felt building inside of her with every passing moment. "I am going with you. I am joining the Grey Wardens. Let that be enough.”


	9. Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing with Rhian after her Harrowing.

The saffron robes of the Circle fit awkwardly, too big in the arms and too tight around the neck, making Rhian feel drowned and suffocated all at once. They scratched against her skin and the material bunched uncomfortably under her stave’s leather harness. Her apprentice robes had been softer, more well-worn and easier to manage. 

Rhian’s new quarters in the upper levels of the tower were emblazoned with the Circle’s insignia and draped in layers of aged green and amber. She shared the room with two other mages who were currently elsewhere going about their duties. Their beds were each meticulously made, and their vanities bare. Rhian looked at her own space, unsure of what to make of it. She had an amount of privacy here, a larger chest with which to store the meager amount of items she possessed, and her own wash basin. It felt extravagant after living so long in the apprentice dorms. 

She sighed, pulling at the cuffs of her sleeves. She was a mage. What was beyond the Harrowing now that she had survived? For what purpose would she spend her time? Running errands throughout the tower? Researching more advanced healing methods? Pretending to care about the close-knit politics that others argued over to pass the time? 

All anyone talked about when she was an apprentice was the chance to undergo the Harrowing, to succeed and become a mage. No one ever mentioned what would come next. The knowledge that the senior magi were responsible for trapping and utilizing the pride demon in their arena kept Rhian’s new found fear anchored to her chest. If the apprentices knew what exactly would be awaiting them there, few would go through with  the Harrowing. Some might run to the ignorance of Tranquility, but she guessed most would rebel. And even though Rhian understood they would have every earthly right to do so, it would’t help those who had just come into their powers. They would wreak more havoc and death in their fear.

Anders had been the only one to get it right, to want to get out, but even he had never mentioned what was in the Harrowing chamber. Even if revealing that secret would be typical of his behavior, it would also mean he would be responsible for the safety and sanity of more than just himself. Rhian knew he was far too considerate to involve other mages in his attempts at defying the Circle, though Anders liked to pretend it was because he was selfish. He had never thought of the Circle as home; he knew what was beyond the borders of the lake. Rhian didn’t. Everything and everyone she’d ever known and loved was here. She couldn’t blindly abandon it all in hopes that there would be a reason for her to do or be anything other than a mage outside these walls. And she understood that many of the apprentices were just as she was, ignorant of anything else but what they’d grown up being taught. It would come to ruin if she told anyone about the trial awaiting them. 

The bed took her weight easily as Rhian fell backward onto it and stared at the stone and timbered ceiling. How many times would she end up counting this new collection above her? She turned her head to look at the stave First Enchanter Irving had given her after her Harrowing. He had suggested Rhian focus on a different primal energy, and the Everite base would enhance those abilities. Electricity would not have been her first choice, but Rhian could not deny the fact that she now flinched from fire. The First Enchanter had agreed that Rhian could very well choose to specialize in frost spells, but he was more concerned that she would overcompensate and repeat the incident that had sent her to the infirmary. 

Electricity was chaotic, completely unpredictable in that it could strike as the smallest shock between two people or course across the sky in blinding fury. Even now, Rhian could feel the energy dancing off the stave as it rested just out of reach of her fingertips. But the most curious thing about the weapon was that it came fitted with a bladed point where most staves had nothing but a flat base with which to brace against the ground. Irving had chuckled at Rhian’s confused expression when he’d handed it over. 

“It is the staff of a battlemage, my dear, from long ago. Not much use sitting in storage here, not when I’m sure you’ll know just how to use it when you need to.” 

He’d had that strange twinkle in his eyes, as if he knew far more of what was to come than he was willing to share. Though, thinking on it now, Rhian believed it probably made sense to say that sort of thing to all newly tried mages, whether or not their staves were any different from her own. What better way to instill a sense of courage in one terrified at the sudden change they found themselves in upon completing the Harrowing? Make them believe they are more important than they really are. Make them believe they have a purpose, even if it is hidden from them at the moment. Make them ready to undertake any request to prove themselves worthy of their newly acquired position. Give them a bed to themselves, their own wash basin, a larger chest, and a quiet corner of the tower and they will do whatever you ask, because they have seen where pride dwells, and they are afraid.

The demon used electricity. If Rhian chose to focus her abilities there, she would not be able to defeat it quickly should she ever face the creature again. Their attacks could very well cancel each other out, if she was strong enough. 

Rhian grabbed her stave and stood, her fingers tingling from the energy in the metal. She decided it wasn’t a question of if she’d be strong enough, but when. Her grip tightened as she put together her purpose for the coming days, months, years. However long it would take before she encountered it again, she would use the time to build her defenses and hone her skills. She would not fall prey to any demon again. 

\---

Rhian was attempting to latch her stave into her back harness when she heard the familiar sound of metal against flagstones from behind. 

“Tricky that. Might have to stretch more in your daily routine to get the hang of it.” An ungloved hand assisted with the final clasp. It was Ser Rydell, a quiet grin upon her face. 

“Thank you.” 

“Yes, well, I was on my way to fetch you as it is.”

“Fetch me? What’s-”

Rydell waved her hands in an attempt to stem Rhian’s anxious tone. “No, no, nothing’s wrong.” She nodded in the direction of the upper level, toward Irving’s study. “The First Enchanter would like a word is all.” 

They walked together down the hall, Rhian being careful to not inquire as to why Rydell was not fully outfitted and to avoid staring at the scars the woman wasn’t interested in hiding. “He’s a quick man, I’ll give him that. I wasn’t two steps away from the door to our dormitory when he caught me with the errand. I was glad to do it of course.”

Rhian kept silent, unsure of how to approach conversation with the templar whose life she’d saved. Rydell was doing her best to make small talk, perhaps one of the only ways she could demonstrate her gratitude.

“I imagine you’ve had a time of it though.” Rydell put a hand on Rhian’s shoulder as they neared the end of the hall. “Whatever happens Amell, you need anything, I’ve got you. I at least owe you that.”

Rydell held Rhian’s gaze until Rhian acknowledged the offer with a nod, and the templar left her for the dormitories above. 

\---

The final few steps to the First Enchanter’s door were overrun with heated whispers, the door being left slightly ajar. 

“Amell and Rutherford have already spent far too much time together.” 

“Come now, Greagoir, you of all people should understand how this could benefit relations between the mages and templars in the Tower.”

“Yes! Me, of all people, I understand how this could ruin us!”

“You have not spoken with her then?”

Greagoir was silent, but Rhian could hear his armor pacing the room. She stepped away from the edge of the doorway to lean against the wall.

Irving heaved a sigh. “You two are more alike than you know, but it would have been good for you to talk before she left for the King’s army.”

“You’re derailing the topic at hand, Irving.”

Rhian heard a disgruntled hrumph from the older man. “I believe allowing the two of them to remain close will help calm the fear that has been rampant among the apprentices, as well as ensure Rhian’s safety. Cullen would still be required to report back to you, and so far, has proved that he believes in the Templars’ cause whole-heartedly.”

“He hesitated in the chamber, and her power has grown too quickly. I will not risk his temptation.” Greagoir must have emphatically pounded his fist against a desk, as Rhian could hear the disturbance of inkwells and papers fall to the floor.

“She is not a demon, Greagoir. She is a young woman, and he, a young man. Better to ignore their affections for now, if, as you say, there is nothing more there than curiosity. Restricting them would cause us greater trouble down the line anyway.”

Greagoir muttered something under his breath that Rhian couldn’t catch, and began walking toward the door.

“You see too much of yourself in the boy, Greagoir. Let him make his own mistakes.”

“Perhaps.” 

The door to Irving’s study opened, and Rhian was thankful she’d had the foresight to quickly dash to the opposing wall and pretend to have been waiting politely. Greagoir looked up as the light from the room spread from his feet toward her. 

She straightened and walked toward him, hoping to avoid whatever confrontation he might think of mustering in response to her presence. Greagoir had never treated her poorly, but he had always been wary, and now that wariness set Rhian on edge.

He said nothing to her as she passed, whether it was out of suspect or shame, Rhian couldn’t say. Greagoir stepped aside and turned to watch her enter the study. He pulled the door closed behind Rhian, ensuring it was properly latched this time.

\---

“Cullen said it was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he’s ever seen. Said she’s very talented and very brave.”

“Well, he would, wouldn’t he?”

“I heard she...”

The gossip stopped as soon as they saw Rhian enter the dormitory. She’d heard it in the hall of course, and did her best to manage an indifferent attitude as she found her old bunk so that she might collect her things. She could feel the apprentices’ gaze on her back, and wouldn’t have put it past them to be muttering something she couldn’t hear. 

Irving had sent her down to the dormitories for the first time since the attack. There were still scorch marks high on the walls, where no one could reach to hang a tapestry. Rhian was sure the First Enchanter wanted to see how she’d handle returning to the dorms, to the place where apprentices she’d known had died. There was a whisper in her head that he was testing her, poking and prodding to find a weak point he might later exploit.

Rhian was waving the thought away when an excited voice proclaimed, “There you are!”

It was Jowan, and in that moment, it seemed like ages had passed since Rhian last saw or spoke with him. He hugged her amidst a flurry of questions about what had happened since the attack, how the Harrowing had gone, why her hair was so short, and how she liked living on the upper floors. He volunteered to help her carry the rest of her things upstairs as they continued catching up.

“I actually started praying, if you can believe it. Everything was just turned upside down, and I thought that if you couldn’t make it through this, none of us could. Not really.” Jowan adjusted his grip on the small pile of books in his arms. “It just made me realize there are more possibilities out there, for all of us. More hope.”

“You’re starting to sound like Anders.”

Jowan let out a nervous laugh. “Well, at least I know better than to try any of the stunts he’s already pulled.”

“Oh, do you now?” Rhian nudged him with her elbow.

“Now that you’re no longer an apprentice, I definitely can’t trust you with all of my secrets.” He grinned, and Rhian almost felt like things were normal again.


	10. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A week or two following the events of the previous chapter.
> 
> (07/09/2017) - Updated, edited, and expanded

 

Senior Enchanter Leorah looked considerably less pale than she had when Rhian had agreed to clear out the spiders in the storage cavern. The senior mage moved to embrace Rhian in gratitude, but decided against it when she saw cobwebs still dangling from Rhian’s shoulders. The woman cleared her throat as she shook Rhian’s hand, “Don’t suppose you’d want to help clean those up later?”

“Not particularly.” Rhian picked at some leftover gossamer in her hair. The stench from the carcasses would be putrid, and Rhian would rather not carry their remnants out on her own. “I’ve been assigned to help with Enchanter Sweeney’s rearrangement of the library.” 

Leorah nodded, somewhat deflated. “Yes, he still pretends he can read the shelving labels.”

“If you’re that desperate for help, you can always ask Anders.” The suggestion was not taken well, but Rhian could see Leorah needed the job done and would do just about anything to keep away from the arachnids herself, live or no.

“Yes. Well, it’s something to consider.” Leorah reached for a small vial on the table next to her and handed it to Rhian. “For your trouble. I heard from Owain that you favor lavender.”

Rhian took the small container and pulled the stopper up just enough to smell the contents. She breathed in the scent and was immediately grateful she hadn’t claimed all of Owain’s stockpile. Rhian gave her thanks to Leorah and pocketed the vial on her way back down the hall.  
  


\---  
  


“Now,” Enchanter Sweeney placed another book on the growing pile teetering in Rhian’s arms, “you must remember, that the Aequitarian literature should be shelved according to author and the Loyalist literature should be ordered by historical relevancy.” 

“Of course.” Rhian was sure Sweeney wouldn’t notice her half-hearted response. She’d learned over the course of the last few hours that there was no arguing, let alone reasoning, with him about the library’s organization or record-keeping. All was to be done as instructed. Rhian was merely his eyes, ensuring the books he was handing her were the correct tomes placed upon the correct shelves in the correct order. 

She heard him yawn as she turned to carry the volumes to a table across the room. “Senior Enchanter, if you would like to retire for the evening, I can ensure these are put away properly.” 

“If you so eagerly insist.” Sweeney pretended to stifle another yawn. “I expect everything to be in order by the morning.”

Rhian placed the tomes down as gingerly as their weight would allow and nodded in the enchanter’s direction. She needn’t have bothered, his robes swept from view mere moments after she’d turned her head. 

Her arms braced against the long pine table, Rhian took in the empty shelves and the threadbare covers of the books in front of her. Between Sweeney deciding how to order the volumes and his frequent tangent summaries, it had taken the entire afternoon to bare the bones of the library. A few other mages had volunteered to help, but could only take so much of the senior enchanter’s criticism in their handling of the books before they’d excused themselves. Rhian puffed out her cheeks as she loosed an exasperated sigh and set to work.

 

\---  
  


The sun bled an amber light through the tower’s small rectangular windows, striping the stone floor of the library with its setting. Rhian conjured a wisp with a wave of her hand and it swam through the air in lazy circles. The library wall was beginning to fill out again, regaining the skin it had unceremoniously shed hours before. Rhian had separated and arranged all the schools of magical theory and had only just placed the last of the Libertarian volumes on the shelf when she reached for the thick pile of unbound parchment. She had thumbed through it earlier without paying much attention to the titles scribbled across the tops of pages. But now, with the replacement of the tomes upon shelves, Rhian had to determine whether or not these should be separated by content or arranged together for the purpose of preservation. She leaned toward the latter, but knowing Sweeney, he’d at least want the pieces in some kind of order.

The first few were written in a language Rhian didn’t understand, followed by a thicker work seeming to hail from Antiva. After passing quickly through several dull pages of The Orlesian View on Magical Elements, Rhian found some loose leaf pages from a book called The Search for the True Prophet. The pages were yellowed and torn along the edges, likely ripped from their original binding. There were faint smears in the bottom corners, surrounded by brown speckling. She scanned over the words, deciding what she held in her hands was merely an introduction to a larger work:  
  


_In my endeavor to add to the discourse surrounding the origins of Andraste, I ask the reader to call into question the accepted Chantry rhetoric from its very origin. What if Andraste was not the Maker’s Chosen? What if she was something far more common and far more feared? What if she had been born with magical abilities and those are what made her the leader that she was?  In this volume, it is my purpose to explore these questions and bring to light the truth of our Prophet._

_While the Chantry undoubtedly has the foremost knowledge of all things concerning the Maker and his creations, it is toward Andraste we must turn our attention for a more accurate understanding of the possibilities which enable individuals to possess miraculous and magical abilities. I mean to delve further into Andraste’s connection with the Fade, its denizens, and her mysterious rise to power. While devout Andrastians may label this heresy, it is worthy to note that Andraste’s ties with magic may have led to her initial capture and enslavement at the hands of the Tevinter Imperium due in no small part to the inexplicable death of her sister Halliserre. Furthermore, I will discuss the “miracles” performed by Andraste during the Exalted March as they relate to our current understanding of magical schools of thought and practices._   
  


Rhian shook her head, not entirely grasping just what she’d read or why it was even in the library, in pieces. She reread what was in her hands, giving each line the wrapt attention she now believed it deserved. Where was the rest of it?

She hurriedly combed through what remained of the indiscriminate stack of parchment, but nothing matched the writing or the texture of the pages she wanted. Perhaps it was in a book she’d missed or one someone had shelved earlier in the day on the other side of the library. Rhian sent her wisp ahead of her, now bright with the reflection of her enthusiasm. It twisted and spun to illuminate the titles that were within her reach, but none bore the words she was looking for. 

The idea was a surprisingly simple one for Rhian to accept, and it astounded her how willing she was to believe it. Andraste could have been just like her. Could have had magic just like hers. Could have had her words and beliefs and deeds misconstrued like so many others after her. Anders would love this theory, but Rhian needed to find the entire volume, not just a sampling of pages. She pulled a ladder out of the corner of the library and placed it against the shelves she had just looked through. She hoped fortune would favor her efforts in looking where no one else could reach.

Seven unsuccessful attempts and several steps later, Rhian let her limbs drape through the rungs of the ladder as she sat a few feet above the ground, defeated. 

“Isn’t it rather late for you to be here?”

Rhian straightened and looked toward the doorway. Her wisp dimmed slightly and retreated to weave behind her shoulders. She saw the outline of armor. “I was organizing the shelves for Senior Enchanter Sweeney.”

She heard the templar chuckle. “Yes, I suppose you would."

“Cullen.” Rhian relaxed. “We have to stop meeting like this.”  
  
He came closer and offered his hand. “I prefer late nights and libraries.”

Rhian untangled herself from the ladder. “It can’t be that late, surely.”

“Late enough for rounds.” Cullen had never considered Rhian to be exceptionally delicate or ladylike, and he smiled as she pulled her robes above her knees to allow for a wider range of motion in freeing herself from the ladder. “Did you need any help?”

“I was looking for a book,” Rhian’s face fell, “but I’m getting the impression I won’t find it here.” She looked across the room at the books still remaining on the tables. “Um, but yes, if you could spare some time.”

Cullen made a show of speaking easily with Rhian as they made their way across the library and began to organize the remaining books. “Did you volunteer for this or did someone convince you this is how you should spend your evenings?”

“I like the quiet.” 

“You like reading suspicious texts when no one can look over your shoulder.”

“They’re not suspicious if they’re already in the library.”

“They are if you read them alone in the dark.”

Rhian dropped her pile of books into Cullen’s arms in minor protest. He followed after her as they went down the row of shelves, Rhian pulling the books from his arms and reordering them the way someone else wanted. He hadn’t spent as much time in the upper library, and this chance afforded him the opportunity to take his time browsing the material at the senior mages’ disposal. He tilted his head to catch the titles along the spines, reading some aloud and providing false summaries of their contents. It was a childish game, but Cullen did not know how to bring up what had happened in the Harrowing chamber, to ask if Rhian was still as terrified as she’d appeared. 

He had the feeling she’d been avoiding him since, though it might have been Greagoir’s attempts to separate them. Cullen thought he’d be able to catch her attention in passing, to exchange an unspoken question of care, but he had had no such luck as of late. It was driving him mad not to have her as close as she’d been before.  
  
“Have you been well?” Cullen shifted the stack of books in his arms.

Rhian paused, the book she was shelving balanced awkwardly against her palm. They hadn’t truly spoken since her Harrowing. She had discreetly asked Rydell about the Templar training schedules and round assignments so that she might have time to work through the previous events on her own terms. She had decided to try to live in the Tower as normally as she had before, to at least make a show of trusting the people she was supposed to trust. She hoped that would be enough.

She slid the spine forward on the shelf. “Of course, Cullen.”

Her answer was short, unfeeling. It was the first time she’d said his name without making his heart skip. 

“Have you ever heard of a book called The Search for the True Prophet?” The question was thrown out casually, as if Rhian intended to skip over the space that had been settling between them. “It’s the book I was looking for. I thought it might be in a different part of the tower.”

Cullen cleared his throat, attempting to adjust to the new course of conversation without letting on how he felt. “Not that I can remember. What is it about?”

“A controversial view of the origins of Andraste.” Rhian continued on, ignoring the implied heresy in even asking after the book. “I just ran across some loose pages and wanted to see if I could put them back in their proper place.”

Cullen was unsure what to make of this new interest, but he wanted to be of help if he could. “I can ask around if you like.”

Rhian grabbed his arm and shook her head in protest. It was the first time they’d touched since The First Enchanter had helped her to her feet from the floor of the Harrowing chamber. And even now, the armor he wore kept them separate

It took a second for Rhian to regain her cool composure as she withdrew her hand. “Please don’t ask for it. It would give you more grief than it’s probably worth.”

Rhian reached for the pile of parchment, gently lined the pages up, and tucked them against her chest. She extinguished her wisp, letting the dim light from the wall sconces in the hallway fill the library’s entrance. “Thank you for your help.”

The light from the hallway only reached so far, and Cullen felt the strongest desire to remain swathed in the shadows with her. He reached for Rhian, an armored arm hesitantly wrapping around her waist and gently pulling her back toward him. Her hair smelled like the dust she found amidst the pages, and it made her into a story he knew through touch instead of words. “A moment is all I ask.”

“You haven’t asked,” she whispered back.

Cullen gingerly took the parchment from her arms and placed it on the nearby table. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please. Tell me what happened.”

“You don’t want to know what happened.”

“I do, Rhian. I saw the fear in your eyes. Saw you shrink away from everyone there. What did you see?”

She could tell by the tone of his voice that Cullen would readily believe anything she’d say, but Rhian wasn’t sure she could bring herself to lie to him. “It doesn’t... it doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“You haven’t been the same since it happened. Whatever it was, I want-”  
  
“There’s nothing either of us can do about it, Cullen. Whatever game they’re playing, we must play along with them.”

“Game?” He was incredulous. Sure, he had been having doubts about his place in the Order as of late, but not about the Order itself.

Rhian breathed out a sigh of frustration. It was only now that she had endured her harrowing that she felt confident enough to call it what it was, and she was angry with herself for needing to continue the front - to keep everything secret. No apprentice would be prepared to face anything like that creature. If they were too wild or unpredictable, they would be made tranquil. If they weren’t made tranquil, then it was a matter of willpower and personal desire. Either way, senior magi were responsible for grooming the kind of mages they wanted in their ranks, and Rhian was apparently one of them. She couldn’t help but ask herself why.

“They keep company with demons to trick us into becoming abominations, to lose ourselves. I don’t know how much Greagoir is aware of, but I’m sure The First Enchant- Irving, gave him vague enough information to avoid arousing suspicion.”

Cullen didn’t know how to wrap his head around what she was saying, or where he should begin. He didn’t want to doubt her word, but it sounded far-fetched from what he knew of his Commander and The First Enchanter. “But you... you succeeded.”

“And have become a pawn in the process.”

“Rhian, if it were true, wouldn’t more people know?”

“Why do you think we’re told to keep it secret!” She hissed.

He loosened his grip around her waist, allowing her space to move about in her agitation. Cullen had never seen her like this. Rhian had had nothing but complete faith in her peers and the Circle before her Harrowing. She’d always been eager to learn from the senior magi, and she’d always been even tempered. Calm, deliberate, and with a sense of easy confidence in her abilities. Cullen found himself wondering if this had more to do with the accident than her Harrowing, if Rhian was still dealing with the effects of her first encounter with an abomination.

“I _know_ it sounds crazy. It’s supposed to. If no one believes a word that is spoken, no harm can be done. But why would they care so much about keeping it hidden, beyond the clear panic it would cause?”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I-” Rhian paused, suddenly unsure. “I don’t know. I don’t suppose there’s anything I _can_ do. There probably never was.” 

She hugged herself to keep her worries at bay. Cullen had no cause to believe her, and he was as devoted to the Order as any knight she’d seen - even if that devotion was far more romantic than the others’. 

Cullen found her shoulders in the dark and squeezed them gently. “I don’t know how I can help, but know that I want to. If you need anything, and it’s within my power, I will do what I can.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “For now, let us pretend we are alone in this tower, and the night is ours and ours alone.”

Cullen’s lips found hers in the dark, and they took their time, seeking slow admittance, savoring. Rhian pulled him as close as she was able, and in that moment, he hated his armor. The metal held him prisoner when all he wanted was the freedom to feel her skin against his. Cullen brought his hands up to cup Rhian’s face and chuckled halfheartedly. “I never thought there’d come a time when I wouldn’t want to wear this uniform.” 

Rhian closed her eyes and leaned into Cullen’s left hand, the gauntlet cold against her face. “Don’t say that,” she whispered. “You’ve dreamt of wearing that armor far more than you’ve dreamt of anything else.”

He leaned in and felt her forehead with his own. “Barely.”

Rhian’s heart beat quickly against her chest, and it took effort for her to pull away. “I should go.”

“You don’t have to run away every time we kiss, Rhian.” He squeezed her hand lightly, wanting nothing more than for her to stay.

Rhian let him have her hand, made no move against it, even though she knew she should have. “They know Cullen. You know they do.”

Cullen did his best not to draw her back to him, not to grasp Rhian’s hand harder in an attempt to keep her close. His commander had spoken with him privately before Rhian’s Harrowing, had shown a more vulnerable side than the man would ever admit he had. He had advised Cullen to stop associating with Rhian once she had left her apprenticeship. If he didn’t, Cullen could very well put his commission in danger. He wanted to say it didn’t matter.

“I won’t be your mistake.” The words cut through his thoughts and made their way to his heart.

“Rhian, no.” His hands moved to her shoulders, to steady her as much as himself. “That’s not what I-”

“Cullen, we can’t have what you want.” She gestured around them in the dark, “All of this, how long will pretending really work?”

He was silent for a long while before responding, trying to weigh the words he should say with those he wanted. He knew she was afraid, of more things than she could half-heartedly admit to herself. “I am not alone in wanting what we’re not supposed to crave. And to try and convince yourself you never wanted the same thing, that you don’t deserve it, is just... wrong.”

Rhian’s silence urged him on. “You have never been a mistake. You never will be, not to me.”

“I’m tired of pretending.”

Cullen brought the desperation to his lips as he brought his face closer to Rhian’s. “I know.”

 

\---

 

Sweeney ended up giving his nod of approval at Rhian’s work and had asked if she would help with the library the apprentices had ‘ruined’. Rhian had declined. It would have been a simple enough matter to enlist the apprentices to do the work, but she knew they wouldn’t be amenable to following her instructions.

Rhian was heading toward the chapel when Anders sprang up beside her, flushed and out of breath. “Ah! Caught you. Finally.”

“Any new plans for escape?”

He stretched his arms out in front of him before placing them behind his head, his stride matching hers. “Would you really like to know?” Anders was grinning.

Yes, Rhian really did want to know, but now wasn’t the time to entertain the idea. “And who would look after your cat if we both ended up in solitary?”

“Your boyfriend?”

Rhian grabbed hold of Anders’ ponytail and pulled him to a stop, her face one of neutral displeasure. He bent backward in protest before the ache in his back insisted he plead for her to stop. “Okay, okay, OKAY.”

She released him and continued walking down the corridor. Rhian knew he was mocking in good fun, but to do so as openly as he did put her on edge. “Are you tagging along for any particular reason, Anders?”

Returning to her side he said, “Jowan mentioned there was someone he wanted me to meet. In the chapel.” He gave it some more thought. “Think we’re going to a secret wedding?”

“Doubt it.”

“Aw, what? Don’t you want to see our little boy happy? The flowers, the exchange of rings, the way they look at each other?” 

“Remind me to give you better literature when you’re locked up again. Whatever they’re giving you to read in there has clearly made you crazy.”

Anders laughed as they set foot into the chapel, the vaulted ceilings magnifying his voice and making it echo off the walls. Had there been anyone in serious prayer at this time of day, Rhian believed they would have called for a set of templars to remove her friend immediately. As it happened, a familiar face peered from behind a pillar in the far corner and beckoned them over.

“You made it! I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

Rhian approached cautiously, noting the Chantry robes of the sister next to Jowan. Anders caught her wariness in his peripheral and made a show to be the one who was more at ease. “Of course we came, Jowan. Now, who is this fine young lady you wanted to introduce us to?”

The woman blushed as Jowan introduced her. “This is Lily.”

“Oh-ho, Jowan, an initiate?” Anders made a show of clapping his hands. “This is going to be good.”

Rhian crossed her arms. There had been whispers about her and Cullen, but no one other than The Knight Commander and First Enchanter knew anything more than that. While the Templar order did not forbid relationships in the most general sense, Rhian knew the Chantry clergy were expected to remain celibate. And here Jowan was with an initiate, openly confiding in Anders and Rhian about it. The similar forbidden circumstances left a bad taste in her mouth.

“You can see why we wish to keep it a secret.” Lily whispered in confidence.

“Lily’s been given to the Chantry. She’s not allowed to have... _relations_ with men.” 

Rhian could see how fondly Jowan looked at Lily, but she doubted he truly understood the consequences at hand. She knew he would think her a hypocrite if she ever said as much.

“ _Relations_ , Jowan? Really? You can’t even call it what it is?” Anders was enjoying this far too much.

Jowan looked at them both, his eyes desperate and his face flushed. “Anders, please. If anyone finds out, we’ll both be in trouble.” 

They waited in silence, Anders debating whether he should take this seriously or not, and Rhian very much wanting to turn around and pretend this introduction had never happened. “If this relationship falls through, you’ll only have yourself to blame, Jowan. It does no good telling us about your affair.”

Lily intervened. “That’s not the only reason he asked you here. He’s-”

Jowan touched Lily’s arm to calm her. For now they were inconspicuous, but any outbursts could rouse suspicion. “Remember when I said I didn’t think they wanted to give me my Harrowing? I know why! They’re going to make me tranquil!” His whispers were harsh, pleading. 

Anders’ face darkened. He remembered hearing rumors of the Templars wanting to do the same to him when he was an apprentice. Irving had forbid it, seeing nothing more in Anders than a rebellious prankster who would eventually outgrow the behavior. Jowan was a misfit, sure, but Anders had never known him to be dangerous. The suggestion could merely be that, a suggestion. 

“They’ll take everything I am from me! My dreams, hopes, fears, even my love for Lily! All gone!”

“Jowan. Calm down. They haven’t made anyone tranquil in years.” And while Rhian said as much, she did not believe Jowan was strong enough to face the demons that awaited in the Harrowing chamber. His fear was apparent, but no good would come from letting him continue on in this state.

“How did you hear about this?” Anders had changed his tone to match the seriousness of the situation. 

Lily looked at them and back to Jowan before beginning. “I saw the document on Greagoir’s table. It authorized the rite on Jowan, and Irving had signed it.”

“Why were you near Greagoir’s table in the first place?” Rhian cut in.

The initiate looked uncomfortable. She clasped her hands together and avoided Rhian’s gaze. “I was... I was-”

“If you can’t be straight forward and honest about being some place where you had no business being, then I don’t see how we should even take your word that the order is authentic.”

“But she saw it!” Jowan protested.

“Jowan, did you ever think that they perhaps intended for her to see it because they wanted to see what you would do in response? Whatever it is your planning could very well end up getting you killed.”

“No. No, I need to escape! I need to destroy my phylactery! And you have to help us! Lily and I can’t do this on our own.”

“Please, Jowan trusts you. Give us your world that you will help, and we will tell you what we intend.”

Rhian looked at Anders. His eyes were hidden beneath a furrowed brow and his arms crossed against his chest. They knew full well what could happen in the Harrowing chamber, and what would happen if this proved to be true and Jowan failed in his escape. It was a no-win situation. She imagined Anders was to be Jowan’s way out, given all the times he had tried to leave the tower. But what was her role in all of this? 

Anders nodded. “You have our word.”

Lily proceeded to debrief them on their current plan. Rhian felt it was far too thought-out to be completely Jowan’s idea, but she also knew he was desperate. Because of Rhian’s good standing with a number of the senior enchanters, she was selected to procure the rod of fire they would need in the vaults below. Anders would be responsible for coming up with a plan to get them out, something he had never successfully accomplished.   
  


\---  
  


Rhian knocked on the great door to the First Enchanter’s office before being given leave to enter. Irving was in the company of a well-armored man and a young woman, close to Rhian’s own age. The First Enchanter beckoned Rhian forward.

“Is this the one you were telling us about, Irving?”

“Yes, Duncan, the very same.”

The armored man turned to face Rhian and took a moment to look her over. She did not enjoy how he seemed to be appraising her worth. 

“This is Duncan, a Grey Warden.” Irving offered a small nod. “And this is one of his recruits, Lady Cousland of Highever.” The young woman didn’t bother to reciprocate a greeting or even acknowledge Rhian. “They will be staying with us a few nights on their way to Ostagar for the upcoming battle.”

“And hopefully to recruit a few additional mages to the cause, if you would be so inclined.” Duncan smiled warmly. “Ah, but I believe this young mage wishes to discuss something with you, Irving. We will find our quarters and see you later this evening."

Rhian waited for the door to shut behind them before she walked over to sit in front of the First Enchanter’s desk. He took his time returning to his own seat behind the aged wood, waiting for Rhian to begin when she was ready.

“You look troubled, my dear.”

“First Enchanter, Jowan believes he is going to be made Tranquil.”

He paused to consider his response. “I suppose the young initiate he dallies about with revealed it to him.” The surprise on Rhian’s face made him chuckle. “You think I didn’t know? I did not become First Enchanter by keeping my eyes and ears shut.”

His response left Rhian cold. She brought her hands from the arm rests to her lap so that she might avoid any unnecessary show of a reaction, her fingers frigid against the cloth. Even though she knew he was already aware of her own dalliances, Rhian was unsure just _how much_ he knew. How many of the whispers were true? How many had he heard? Irving had never reprimanded her or told her the obvious, and not for the first time, Rhian wondered why.

“Greagoir says he has proof - and eyewitness testimony - that Jowan has been practicing blood magic.”

“Wait, blood magic?” Feeling returned to Rhian’s fingers. “But, that’s... He wouldn’t have access to that kind of knowledge. He couldn’t have simply learned it by himself.”

“I am aware.”

Rhian was silent.

“If he knows about the rite, then perhaps he is planning to act against it?”

“Yes.” Blood magic? The only reason Rhian could imagine he would turn to the forbidden art was because of his fear of the Harrowing. Jowan had heard enough from other mages to piece together what was involved, especially considering many mages did not come back from the chamber. If he was using blood magic, regardless if he was experimenting on his own or had a teacher, Jowan was a liability. A threat to everyone in the Circle. “He plans to destroy his phylactery.”

“And I suppose his lady friend is involved? Yes, she must be helping him. She would know more about the repository than he would.”

“What would you have me do?”

“If they trust you, offer to help them carry out their scheme. With solid proof of their crime, we can act.” He sat straighter in his chair. “I will be outside the repository with a contingent of templars. Let them see the mischief into which their initiate led our student.”

Rhian did not move from her chair. The First Enchanter made this seem so simple, and while Rhian supposed it was, it did not feel that way. The old man showed no qualms about leading his own into a trap.

“Was there something else?”

“I...” What would they do with her if she refused? What would happen if she agreed? Nothing was the same, and Rhian knew that regardless of her decision, she would have to live with herself in this Tower for the rest of her days. “I will do as you ask... on one condition.”

“Oh?” Irving steepled his fingers in front of his chest.

“Lock Anders away until this is settled. He doesn’t need to know why.”

“Hm. I would think your condition would have related to another young man.” He watched Rhian intently, hoping she would clarify her request, or perhaps change it. When she made no move to do so, he simply said, “Done.”

Rhian stood stiffly, gritting her teeth at the notion of what she must do next. As she reached for the handle of the door, she heard Irving from across the room say, “You may not enjoy it, but if you want to survive, you must learn the rules and realize that sometimes, sacrifices are necessary.”

 


	11. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events during and after the "Bound in Blood and Magic" quest line. Rhian must deal with the consequences of her actions and how they will affect her relationship with Cullen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue pulled from in-game conversations written during the mage origin story by the DA:O team at Bioware.
> 
> (07/09/2017) - Updated, expanded, and edited.

 

The rod of fire had proven far more effective against the old stone wall than Rhian had anticipated, giving way with a low rumble as pieces fell to the floor. She knew it was only a matter of time now before Irving descended to the main level with Greagoir and a contingent of Templars. Jowan, overzealous in the hunt for his phylactery, still did not suspect a thing. He was pinning all his hopes of escape on Anders, currently locked away elsewhere at Rhian’s request. 

“This chamber is massive! Look at all the phylacteries! I can’t believe there are so many.” Jowan was elated.

Rhian imagined he would have gladly broken every vial in his reach, but Jowan had never been that ambitious. At least, not until recent events, and those reeked more of desperation than anything else. The stacks of ancient books next to a shelf of vials caught her attention, tearing Rhian away from the worry of leading her current companions into a trap. Perhaps she’d find something useful there.

Lily was growing more anxious by the minute, pulling at her chantry robes to calm her nerves. “Jowan, we need to focus. The sooner we are done with this horrid place, the better.”

“Of course, love.” Jowan busied himself searching through the shelves before imploring Rhian to help him rather than thumbing through dusty pages.

Rhian nodded reluctantly, letting the two of them continue their efforts before turning back to the book in her hands. She hesitated a moment before firmly grasping a handful of pages and tearing them from the spine. They came loose easily, the binding already barely holding together. Rhian folded the pages carefully and quickly tucked them under her robes before assisting Jowan in his search.

“Anything interesting?” 

“Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure.”

Jowan chuckled quietly, not bothering with Rhian’s curiosity in the vault’s other contents. “Well then, let’s keep looking.”

Rhian watched Jowan as her hands brushed over vials of blood. His face was the picture of youthful excitement, of the promise that he could be more outside these walls. They had grown up together, been friends since he had struggled with the most basic of barrier spells. She could tell him, could try and convince Jowan to turn himself in. Irving said there were witnesses? Where could Jowan have learned and practiced blood magic that would be so easily seen? Surely he wasn’t that stupid. Irving had seemed too quick to turn the situation to his advantage, too eager to sacrifice a subpar apprentice. But he and Greagoir were far too close to attempt turning one against the other. And Rhian knew Irving was cunning enough to have thought of a plan should she decide to turn against him and stand up for Jowan. No matter what course of action they could have taken, this small venture had been doomed from the start.

“You’ve found it!”

Rhian looked at the vial in her hands, Jowan’s named inked across the label in hurried script. 

“Let me see that, Rhian.” Jowan snatched his fate from her fingers, unflinchingly eager for the destruction that was to follow.

 

\---  


“We did it! I can’t believe it!”

“We’re not out yet, Jowan.” Lily looked around the main chamber, eager to see some sign of Anders. Instead, she locked eyes with Greagoir.

“So what you said was true, Irving. An initiate conspiring with a blood mage.” The knight-commander shook his head. “I’m disappointed, Lily.”

Greagoir looked them over, his eyes coming to rest on Rhian. He did not have to voice the words she knew he felt, the betrayal was tangible. Everything he could say to her hung in the air, tempting Rhian to turn her gaze away, because she knew, on some level, he was right.

“Rhian is here under my orders, Greagoir. I take full responsibility for her actions.”

“Wait. What?” Jowan turned his attention to Rhian, trying to make sense of all that the First Enchanter implied with those words. “You... you knew about this? But you agreed! You said you’d help!”

She watched as Jowan clenched his fists, fighting the urge to move against her. Rhian knew those words had never crossed her lips, that she was pulled into helping Jowan just as much as she was pushed to betray him. Contesting his point of view would do nothing at this point. She stepped away from his side.

“I thought we were friends! I thought this- that I mattered to you!”

“Enough!” Greagoir’s voice rang in the chamber. “As knight-commander of the Templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death. And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar.”

The templars moved in, tightening the circle around Lily and Jowan. 

“This is wrong. This is all wrong!” Lily was in a panic at the mention of Aeonar. “What you’re doing is wrong! We’re not-”  
  
The templar barely had a chance to grab hold of Lily before Rhian saw the knife appear in Jowan’s hand. It would never get through their steel-plate, Jowan must have known that. He raised the blade high before plunging it into his free hand, blood collecting in his palm.  


\---  


A steel gauntlet was shaking Rhian as she opened her eyes. Her cheek was cold from being pressed against the marble floor. Her head throbbed and her vision swam before she was able to sit up and gather herself. She waved the templar on to attend to others who were more seriously wounded - and there were many. Not one of the templars had come away unscathed. Rhian’s fingers gently prodded at her temple, testing for any injury that might have caused her headache. She looked around, half expecting an abomination to finish what she assumed Jowan had started. No other mages were present save for her and Irving; Jowan was gone. Lily cowered near the stairwell, her face in her hands to cover her terror.

“I was not expecting that kind of power to come from Jowan, of all people. To overcome so many...”

Irving wheezed his response as Greagoir aided him in standing. “Jowan’s abilities have always been too closely tied to his emotions.”

“We should have acted sooner! If you had let me handle this before, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

The First Enchanter steadied himself, ignoring Greagoir’s rage as he walked over to Rhian. “And how are you, my dear? Are you alright?”

“F-fine, First Enchanter. A bit shaken, but... Jowan, he...”

“He has gone.”

“And that must be rectified immediately, Irving!” Greagoir marched over to Lily and forcibly brought the girl to her senses. There had never been a more public or humiliating interrogation. The initiate, still in shock, told him everything. She was far too drained to protest as a pair of templars took her away in preparation for her journey to Aeonar.

“And as for you, Amell.”

Rhian could not hide the surprise that covered her face. Irving had said she had been working under his direct order, that she’d even come to him immediately after hearing of Jowan’s plans.

“Don’t give me that look. You are far from innocent here.” The knight commander was fuming. “You know why the repository exists. Some artifacts, some magics are locked away for a reason!”

Irving cleared his throat. “Tell us honestly child, did you take anything while you were in the lower levels? A book or stave perhaps?”

Rhian knew she had to be beyond suspicion if she were to remain in his confidence, or even the Circle itself. And while she never considered herself a dishonest person, Rhian knew she would have to lie. Irving had been very specific in his query about Rhian taking a book, but she technically didn’t carry one. For all her love of history and literature, no one would believe she’d torn pages from a book unless she openly admitted it. “No, First Enchanter.”

“Very good then. I believe you. Now that that is settled, we should-”

“This is far from settled, Irving! Her antics have made a mockery of the Circle! There is a blood mage on the loose because of your little plan, and I will not tolerate this!”

“She did as I told her, Greagoir. Both the Chantry and the Circle have witnessed a grievance against them today.”

“Hunting Jowan down is not the same as a recompense for that, Irving. Something must be done.”

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance?” Duncan, and likely the rest of the first floor, had heard the argument grow in its intensity. “I am not only recruiting mages for the King’s army, but also for the Grey Wardens.”

Greagoir dismissed the offer with a sneer. “This is a Circle matter, Duncan. It will be handled.”

“Irving spoke highly of Amell, and I would like her to join the Warden ranks. I believe she would be a great asset in the upcoming battle.”

“What? You’ve promised him a new Grey Warden?”

“She has served the Circle well. She would make an excellent Grey Warden.” Irving was growing ever more frustrated with Greagoir’s tirade. 

Duncan did his best to smooth things over. “We look for dedication in our recruits. Fighting the darkspawn requires such dedication, often at the expense of all else.”

“I object. I must investigate this issue, and I will _not_ release Amell to this Grey Warden.”

“You want me to join you?” Rhian did not know what to say, and she found herself leaning toward staying under Greagoir’s reproachful watch than Duncan’s unknown guardianship. She turned to the First Enchanter. “Leave the Circle? Everything, everyone, I know is here. I’ve never been in battle. I-”

“Rhian, this tower is not the place for you.” Irving placed his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to have her understand. “You have... a truly rare gift that should not be squandered.” 

Greagoir grunted his disagreement.

“Greagoir, if she can be of use elsewhere, there is no harm in sending her. Don’t we reward service?”

Rhian was on the edge of panic, this was not a reward she wanted, this was something else entirely. She felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. “But-”

“My dear, you have an opportunity few even dream of. Do not squander it.”

“It is settled then. I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions.” Duncan patted her shoulder and made to turn toward the hall. “Come, your new life awaits.”

She knew what this was, what Irving was doing. She had been a fool to think his advice had only related to Jowan. “No! It has not been settled; I have decided nothing! I am not something to be handed off from my parents to the Chantry to the Circle to the Wardens!” 

Her outburst caught them all by surprise, each man watching her carefully. 

Duncan raised his eyebrows. “You have the opportunity to leave the Circle, not as an apostate, but as a Warden, under no commitment to the Chantry. Is that not something you want?”

Rhian crossed her arms. To admit she found the prospect appealing would further distance herself from any good graces she still kept within the tower. The Circle was all she knew, and she knew how to work well within that system, leaving it would be...

“She should stay, Irving.”

Duncan’s eyes grew severe. “Greagoir, mages are needed. Amell is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood mages - you know that. We-” 

“It is unfair of you to ask this so immediately, both of me and the Knight Commander. Whatever you and the First Enchanter agreed to in private has no place here. The Knight Commander has requested to investigate this issue, and I am requesting to consider your offer.”

The men stared at Rhian, taken aback by her sudden assertive attitude. She was well aware everyone expected her to follow rules and orders without complaint, but that had been when she was ignorant, happy to be an apprentice to a long-held and wise order of magi. Now, now she had to counter. If she was going to leave the Circle, it would be on her terms.

“Very well. As it stands, I must prepare the rest of my recruits for the journey to Ostagar. You have the night to make your final decision.” Duncan gave a small bow and left to attend to his companions.

\---  


“I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Amell.” Ser Rydell looked about the corridor, keeping her voice low so no one would hear them.

“I know it’s not a good idea, Rydell, I _know_ that.” Rhian kept her pace brisk, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Then why do you want to-”

“Because I put him there.” She stopped abruptly alongside the templar. “Jowan’s gone, Lily’s off to Aeonar. If he doesn’t get out now, there will be no one left. They already know he was involved somehow. He’ll take everything that Jowan and I have been able to avoid up until now, and I can’t...” Rhian breathed out and closed her eyes. “I will not let him rot here alone any more.”

Rydell answered back in a harried whisper, “He’ll be just as hunted as Jowan!” 

“No. No, he won’t. He’s smarter than Jowan.”

“Oh no, no way.”

“What?” 

“Those documents you had me collect earlier. You’re going to... but they’ll know they’ve gone missing!”

“You said if I needed anything, _anything_ , you would take care of it.” Rhian continued up the stairwell, Rydell on her heels.

“Of course, but-”

“No ‘buts’ Rydell. Tell me you wouldn’t do everything you could to ensure the safety of the people closest to you.”

“But they’ll figure it out!” Rydell whispered harshly.

“I reprinted them and had the originals discreetly returned.” Rhian’s breath was heavy. “How do you all do this in that armor?” 

She put her hand against the cool stone. It was already early evening, and Rhian had to make up her mind about her future in a matter of hours. Irving had offered her up without hesitation, one of his sacrifices in the name of some higher purpose. His praise was anything but high; it was currency, and he’d cashed in the moment the trap was sprung. She wouldn’t let Anders be a part of that.

“It’s just a bit farther.”

“Alright. I can make it the rest of the way.” Rhian put her hand out. “Just trade shifts for the evening and give him a warning knock. He’s not going to tell anyone.”

Rydell reluctantly placed an old key in Rhian’s palm, and was surprised to find Rhian gently gripping her ungloved hand.

“I know this is a lot to ask, but...” The words weren’t coming out very well. “You owe me nothing after this.”

“You’re going then? To the Wardens?”

“Nothing’s been decided yet. I just wanted to thank you.”

Rydell clasped her free hand under Rhian’s and held her for a moment. “May the Maker guide your steps and Andraste keep you, Amell.”

Rhian nodded and watched as Rydell turned to walk the way they had come, passing the innumerable cell doors lining the hall. The key was small, insignificant in design, and no one would notice if it were to go missing. Rhian tucked it away into the pocket of her inner sleeve and counted the doors as she ascended the narrow stairs. 

_119, 120, 121._

She didn’t know how many mages had been locked in these cells, or how many currently occupied them. Rhian couldn’t let herself care about any of these doors save for the one she needed to reach.

_128, 129, 130._

He’d never forgive her if he found out what happened, that she had turned her back on Jowan and turned him in. He wouldn’t understand why she had to do it.

_131, 132, 133._

Door 134. She turned the key in the lock and heard it grind before clicking through and opening the door. Light parted the shadows on the floor and stopped at the exposed sole of a shoe. Silence.

“Anders?” Rhian sent a wisp into the cell, the energy dimming to alleviate the strain on her friend’s eyes.

“And what do you call this? A rescue?” His voice was flat, unfeeling.

“No, not quite.”

“Good. You can’t rescue someone you purposely put here.” 

One of the guards probably let something slip, but now was not the time to worry about how Anders knew she was responsible for putting him in a cell in the first place. 

“We promised him, Rhian.” He was squinting up at her, arms crossed, anger seeping from him into the walls. 

“You promised, Anders.” She stayed in the doorway, knowing full well that his stubbornness would rebuke any offer to help him to his feet. “He lied, you know. Jowan knew blood magic; he used it.”

Anders gave out a weak and bitter laugh. “So I guess that’s the price of success.” 

“It doesn’t have to be.” Rhian threw a rolled-up piece of parchment at his feet. “You want   your plans to work, take that.”

“Why would I want anything from you?”

Rhian turned her head to check that they were still alone before she took a step into the dim light. “Anders, we don’t have time. Everything is in there. Patrol times, shift changes, boat shipments to the caves under the tower, maps of all the roads to Denerim, and exactly when the Wardens will be leaving. This is your best chance.”

Anders wrapped his fingers around the parchment, wondering if it was indeed worth his time to look at its contents. “All of this, for what?”

Rhian looked down the corridor, expecting a guard to come round the curve at any moment. “The Wardens are recruiting, Anders.” 

Not satisfied with her response, Anders waited for Rhian to hurriedly continue.

“If I, if we, join them, we wouldn’t be apostates; we wouldn’t be hunted.”

“I’m not here to fight a war, Rhian. I just want to live my life. On my own terms.” Anders stood, dusting himself off. He straightened his back and walked past Rhian into the corridor. 

Rhian followed him out and quickly locked the door behind them. She tugged on his sleeve to pull him in the right direction, and they descended the stairs at as brisk a pace as she had taken on the way up. They continued in silence until they came to a branched set of hallways leading to the underground caves and the senior mage quarters. The two of them stood for a long while, each listening for any sound of metal on flagstone, each trying to think of what to say before they parted.

“Anders...”

“You’ve done what you needed to...” Anders turned to face Rhian, taking in the sadness under her determined expression. They had been family for so many years, and even though he wanted to, it was not so easy to forgive her for what she’d done. But even as she took away his chance to escape with everyone he cared for, Rhian was at least trying to give him his own freedom now. He stepped closer, his mixed emotions pulling him in every direction. He wanted to say that they were done, wanted to yell that she’d ruined everything, but his throat closed around the words. He already knew she was hurting, and though he wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive Rhian, Anders knew he would never forgive himself if he said as much.

Taking advantage of his height, he kissed her forehead, whispered, “Try not to die,” and descended the stairs into the caverns.  


\---  


A quiet tap came from the door to Rhian’s chambers. She had been straining her ears from her bed for the last half hour hoping to hear it before the sound could wake her chamber mates. They were as sound asleep as ever, one snoring and the other sleeping with her head under a pillow. Rhian crept as quickly to the door as she could and eased its hinges open, candlelight spilling out into the hall. Cullen had just raised his hand to knock a second time, but lowered his arm as soon as he saw Rhian’s face. She ushered him in with a fervent wave of her hand and quietly closed the door behind him.

“Rydell was very to the point with her, uh, request.” He tugged at the collar of the stolen robes he wore.

Rhian shushed him with a finger to his lips as she indicated her sleeping chamber mates. The timbre of his voice was louder than she would have liked at that moment. Cullen nodded, but held on to her hand as she tried to remove it. He opened Rhian’s palm and kissed along its lines before turning it over and planting a tender kiss upon her knuckles. 

He whispered as they maneuvered to Rhian’s bed. “Tell me this disguise wasn’t your idea.”

“I actually never even thought of it, but robes are much quieter to remove.” Rhian helped Cullen tug the robes over his head, stifling a laugh as his shoulders became unceremoniously stuck in the material. She pulled away from him, and a few ripped seams later, he was free.

“I must admit, I was a little surprised at your...” he searched for the right phrasing, “sudden impulse to see me so late.” Cullen watched from his seat on the bed as Rhian disrobed. The material pooled at her feet, leaving her in her small clothes.

She waited with her back to him, deciding how best to impart all the reasons why she wanted him with her tonight. “I’m sure you’ve already heard... something at the very least.”

Cullen’s hands went around Rhian to rest on her hips, pulling her gently backward. He kissed the nape of her neck as his fingers pressed against her skin. “I want you to tell me,” he breathed “after...”

He kissed his way across her shoulders as his hands untied the cloth that supported her breasts. Cullen cupped each one and ran a calloused finger over each nipple, relishing how Rhian leaned her back against him for more. Cullen kept his sword arm wrapped around her as she turned to catch his lips with her own. His free hand teased at her smalls, rubbing against the growing warmth between her legs. 

He pulled them down to lay on her bed, his erection thick against her backside. There was no armor separating them now, no pretense that either of them didn’t want exactly what they were both here for - each other. Cullen slipped his hand under her linens and let his fingers tug at the curls closest to where he wanted to go. The damp heat was unbearable and he pulled his hand back to turn her over.

“What would you have of me, my lady?” He asked, his arms braced against the sheets above her shoulders.

Rhian rocked uncomfortably beneath him, never quite knowing how to describe to him what she wanted. He kissed her nose in as much anticipation as encouragement. She scrunched up her eyes, “Remember when you...” She drew in her lips to keep the request at bay. “In the library...” 

Her hands came up to tousle Cullen’s hair, slowly falling to his jaw where she could more easily guide where she wanted his lips to touch. He laid a trail of kisses down Rhian’s chest toward her middle, and offered no resistance as she gently pushed him further down her torso to rest his chin between her legs. 

“This,” Cullen breathed hot air against her smalls, punctuating his sentence with a deeper kiss after each word, “I remember this - every - single - night.” 

Cullen’s fingers slid underneath the final piece of Rhian’s linens, slowly pulling them down, dragging them against her as he went. He felt her tense, and he looked up to see her muffle a gasp as he kissed her as deeply as he was able. Rhian arched her back, and Cullen took the opportunity to situate his hands on her hips, bringing her closer to his mouth. He breathed in her wetness, letting his tongue occupy the warmth of her before he gripped Rhian firmly and focused his lavishing on her clit. She breathed out a low moan as her hand found a fistful of his curls. 

When Cullen heard her whisper for more and felt her pull him up to drown in her own heady scent, he pressed himself against her. There could never be enough of either of them. Rhian brought her arms around his neck, beckoning him closer. He angled himself at her opening, eager and desperate to drown himself in every inch of her. He felt the subtle and smooth resistance between her legs before being wrapped up within her, and he moved with as steady and deliberate pace as he could manage, wanting this to last as long as possible. A hand went to support Rhian’s hips as he bowed his head against her breasts, the quiet sound of her pleasure reddening his ears and quickening his pace. 

Rhian bit her lip as Cullen’s teeth sank into her shoulder as he came, the secret of their tryst barely contained as they drew in the deep breaths of their deed. He thumbed over her chest as she scraped her hands against his stubble. Rhian moved her hips against him, and Cullen smiled into her lips. He brought his head up to gaze at her, wanting more than anything to keep her here in this moment for the rest of his life.

Cullen rolled over and drew her to his chest, eager to keep Rhian close. “Alright,” he breathed, “tell me what happened.” 

Rhian didn’t say anything; she was too busy taking in how Cullen looked at her and how light his gaze made her feel in that moment.

“Rhian,” he whispered, a small grin on his face as his hand moved up her arm.

She smiled in return and raised the sheets up, telling Cullen everything there in the quiet beneath the covers of her bed. She recounted how Jowan had been acting suspiciously, how Anders had agreed to help, how she had gone to the First Enchanter with knowledge of their plans. Her delivery was calm, practiced, as though she had been rehearsing it in her head in the hours since Duncan gave her the night to decide. She left out her theft and made no mention of Anders or how the Templars wouldn’t find him in his cell the following morning. Rhian knew that if she had included that detail, Cullen would relay the news. As devoted to her as he was, Rhian understood the cause would always come first. 

Cullen listened intently, holding Rhian in his arms and drawing her close the nearer she was to the end of her story. He’d heard some passing remarks from his comrades and pieces from Rydell. And from the way Rhian was telling the events, Cullen could tell very little of the situation sat well with her. He wasn’t sure what he could say to make her feel better. Neither Greagoir nor Irving sounded keen on the fact that Rhian had given herself time to think through her options, and none of the options were without consequence. 

“If you go with them, if you become a Grey Warden, you will no longer be bound to the Circle or its rules.”

“You mean if I survive.” She closed her eyes under the sheets and sighed. “They want me to fight a war, Cullen. I’ve never done that. I’ve never been told or expected to kill someone before.”

“They don’t fight people. They fight darkspawn and the Blight. It’s just as noble a cause as the Templars.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Rhian sat up, dislodging their makeshift cave and disentangling herself from Cullen’s arms in favor of wrapping a spare blanket around her shoulders.  
  
“That Grey Warden, Duncan, he said they needed healers. You probably won’t even see battle.” He caressed the top of her hand, “These hands will be used to help others, as I’ve seen them do before.”

Rhian listened to the rhythmic sound of her fellow mage’s snoring from over the partitioning wall. She wanted to believe Cullen was right, but the truth was she had no idea. The world was expanding so quickly under her feet that she felt she’d fall right through to its center. 

Cullen sat up and turned to face her, ignoring the sheets now tangled between them. “If anyone could do it and come out alive it would be you.” He paused, trying to read her expression in as much as he was trying to muster his courage. “And then we-”

“We what?” Her eyes were quietly desperate, wanting something real, an answer that would actually work. “I might no longer be bound to the Chantry’s laws, but you would be.”

He smiled warmly, almost playfully. “Templars are not bound to laws of chastity.”  
  
She gave a small, defeated laugh, “Clearly.”

Cullen took Rhian’s face tenderly in his hands, brushing strands of her hair away from her eyes. “We are allowed to marry.”

It felt like an eternity of watching his amber eyes gaze back into hers, searching, inviting, waiting. This wasn’t the answer she was expecting to find. Rhian’s fingers tugged on his hands, freeing herself from his grasp. 

He cleared his throat, letting his hand press the tension and nervousness out of his neck before covering his forehead to hide his blush. “Well, I mean, if that’s... something you’d like... to do... at some point.”

Rhian pulled the blanket tighter around her, “Cullen, I...” her knuckles paled as she tried to get the words out. “This could change everything. You’d be tormented endlessly if you stayed here, and-”

Cullen’s head shot up, alert to what Rhian wasn’t even aware she was saying. “Is that a yes?”

“And you could end up being reassigned, and I could have orders for Maker knows where, and you-”

“Rhian. Is that a yes?”

“You’re assuming I’m going to survive, but there’s no way to know if-”

He kissed her, and she let him. She let him wrap his strong arms around her. She let him hold her against his chest. And they breathed each other in as if the other were the air itself.   


\---  


A faint knock at the door startled Cullen awake. He looked about the unfamiliar room, taking a moment to remember his surroundings and recognize the warm body at his side. Rhian was curled against him sound asleep, her arm draped across his chest. She was beautiful, at peace in her slumber. The knock came again. 

He knew it was Rydell’s warning. They had maybe thirty minutes before the shift turned over, and Cullen would need to be back in uniform well before then. He brushed a hand over Rhian’s arm, chilled with the pre-dawn air. She nuzzled closer against him. 

“Rhian.”

“No.”

The gravity of what the day held was beginning to weigh upon him. She’d be gone, and no one could tell him for how long, or if she’d even return. “Come on, your prisoner needs to get back to the barracks.”

Rhian opened her eyes, dreading the welcome of a new day. She knew he’d have to go. Sitting up, she leaned over the bed, being sure to keep herself covered, and gathered up the mock robe he had worn in the night. She passed it over to Cullen, looking to slide out of bed to get dressed herself.

“Wait.” Cullen pulled Rhian back to him and leaned his forehead against hers. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, it’s that you always come back.” 

He pulled a medallion from the folds of fabric she had given him and placed it over Rhian’s head. It fell gently against her collarbone, where he touched it affectionately before looking into her eyes. 

“I will always be here, and you will always have me. Remember that.”

\---  


Duncan was waiting for Rhian in the entryway, Lady Cousland standing coldly by his side, her arms crossed. He did his best to counter her demeanor in welcoming Rhian. “Have you made a decision then?”

“I have. If the Grey Wardens will have me, I will join you.” It seemed too simple of a thing to say. “I’ve already cleared the matter with the Knight-Commander; he sends his apologies that he is unable to see you off.”

“I understand.” Duncan motioned for Lady Cousland to go ahead as he opened his arm to Rhian in welcoming. They walked through the doors leading to the vestibule where a handful of templars guarded the entrance to the tower. She saw Rydell’s familiar face, warm and ever grateful, as she nodded in the direction Rhian had come. Cullen stood along the wall behind her, hoping to catch a final glimpse of her before she ventured beyond the tower’s walls.

“Have you said your goodbyes?” Duncan’s voice was soft, only just above a whisper.

Rhian opened her mouth to speak, but realized she could not so freely give the goodbye she would have wished. She nodded, and Duncan acknowledged her consent to continue onward. “The boats have been prepared. Come, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

She threw a last glance over her shoulder at Cullen, and she read the sadness in his eyes. As she reached for the pendant under her robes, he bowed his head in the only farewell he could offer.


	12. Recruits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caerlyn Cousland's point of view comes into play once again as we finally make it to Ostagar. The remaining Warden recruits are briefly introduced, with more to come in the next chapter. 
> 
> A large portion of dialogue pertaining to Duncan and King Cailan's exchange is taken directly from the game and belongs to Bioware.

 

Duncan rode his horse beside the wagon carrying the other recruits, giving them a brief history of the area. The mage had been particularly interested in his history lessons, even though he swore he knew very little. She had also queried the dwarves about their history and culture, never having run across even a surface dwarf with whom to satiate her quest for knowledge. Her upbringing in the Circle had made her a shut-in, and Caerlyn doubted very much just how useful the girl would be.

Caerlyn pressed her horse onward, well aware that there was no longer a need for Duncan to lead their troop of misfits. They were on the only road south from Lothering, and the spires of Ostagar could already be seen on the horizon. Darius trotted dutifully by the side of her steed, sniffing at the air.

“The King’s forces have clashed with the darkspawn many times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. There are only a few Grey Wardens in Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here.” 

Istrum interjected. “When you say ‘a few’, how few do you really mean? Are the Wardens like the Legion of the Dead?”

Duncan tilted his head, considering the dwarf’s analogy. “Hm. Yes, master dwarf, they are much like the Legion, excluding a handful of differences.” 

“Few, but deadly. I can get behind that.”

“In any case, this Blight must be stopped. Here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall.”

Juno picked at the wood of the cart with the edge of an axe. “You didn’t answer his question, Duncan.” Her eyes rose to lock on to the man’s face. “How many is a few?”

The Warden sighed, the uncertainty of the situation apparent on his face. “Hopefully enough to make a difference.”  
  


\---  
  


When Istrum pulled the cart to a stop by the stables, Caerlyn was already busy tending to her horse, patting it affectionately as she fed it handfuls of grain. She watched as their party disembarked. Juno kept low, hands ready to reach for an ax should she feel the need. Her brow was furrowed in a line of suspicion as additional troops descended to unload the supplies that had also made the journey. Istrum leapt off the front of the cart, landing solidly on the packed earth. He looked up, squinting at his surroundings, a satisfied grin on his face. The mage, Rhian, actually looked unimpressed by the battlements, but Caerlyn supposed growing up in Kinloch Hold could do that.

“Caerlyn, the stewards will take care of the horses. Come.” Duncan was insistent, the others already close behind. “There is much we must do before nightfall, and others you have yet to-”

“Ho there, Duncan!”

A man in golden armor pulled Duncan’s attention away from them. “King Cailan. I didn’t expect a-”

“A royal welcome?” The king laughed, the sound of it filled with youthful exuberance. “I was beginning to worry you’d miss all the fun.”

“Not if I could help it your majesty."

King Cailan grasped hold of Duncan’s armored shoulder. “Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan by my side in battle after all. Glorious!” 

His eyes passed over the group, eagerly taking in their faces, attempting to burn each into his memory for future tellings of his ventures with the Wardens. “The other Wardens told me you’d found a few more promising recruits. I take it these would be them.” 

“Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty.” Duncan gave a small bow before extending his arm toward the four of them. 

“Our most recent recruit hails from Kinloch Hold, a promising mage from the Circle.” Rhian nodded curtly, uncomfortable with the prospect of bowing to a man who had little influence on her life in the tower. 

“From Orzammar we have Lady Ae-”

“Juno, your majesty.” The correction slid by easily enough before Istrum interrupted.

“A human king, huh? THE king now, I suppose.” Istrum gave a nod before introducing himself, noting how Duncan shook his head in exasperation at the dwarf’s sense of propriety.

The king turned his attention to Caerlyn, recognizing her in an instant as she bowed before him. He responded in kind, “You need no introduction, my lady. You are Bryce’s youngest, are you not? I don’t think we’ve ever actually met.”

“Just the once, your highness, King’s Day several years ago.”

“Then my apologies.” Cailan gestured toward the bridge in direction of the main camp, inviting Caerlyn to talk with him as the group walked onward. “I am surprised you travel with Duncan. Your father must have been livid at the idea.”

Caerlyn willed her legs to keep moving, to hold the pretense intact. Her father had ultimately had no choice, had finally come around to her side only to die before it even mattered. She kept her back straight and her fists clenched as the king continued.

“Your brother has already arrived with Highever’s men...”

Fergus. Fergus was alive, and he was here. She had to tell him. He would know what to do, would have a clearer head, would be able to make this whole thing make sense somehow. Of course he would know what to do. She had to find him, immediately.

“Do you-”

“But we are still awaiting your father. He has yet to send word of his progress across the Bannorn.”

The realization that someone still believed her parents were alive, still breathing, still on their way to assist, hit Caerlyn like a punch to the gut, leaving her cold and breathless. The king spoke as if nothing had ever happened, as if none of it could have mattered. She found herself hating him for it.

“I am afraid you will be waiting far longer than you might like.” Her voice broke as the sentence trailed away from her lips, giving everything away she’d wanted to keep bound inside her.

The king stopped, a hand at her back. “What’s happened?”

His concern did not sway her. As if the king really had no idea. Loghain was his commander, and Howe was Loghain’s underling. Everyone knew that, didn’t they? She turned an angry gaze on her liege, fiery words hot on her tongue.

Duncan interceded then, stepping between them and guiding the king forward, away from Caerlyn’s imminent outburst. “Teryn Cousland and his wife are dead, your majesty. Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and taken over Highever castle. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us, and told you any story he wished.”

The king looked confused, not entirely understanding what Duncan was telling him. It gave way to anger soon enough. “I can scarcely believe it. Why, how could he believe he could get away with such treachery?” He stopped and pivoted back to Caerlyn, fervent in his desire to right the grievous wrong that had been done to her. “As soon as we’re done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice! You have my word, Lady Cousland.”

Caerlyn shot back at him. “As soon as we’re done here? We have no idea how long this battle is going to take! Howe could cause even more irreparable damage by then, and _we_ could very well die in the process. I am not willing to risk that; I won’t!”

The king’s expression darkened. He did not desire a row before so many eyes, not about this.  “Perhaps this discussion is more suited for a private venue. Duncan, would you-”

“I will have my voice, highness!” Caerlyn stepped up to within inches of the king, undeterred by his rank in her fury. “All should know of Howe’s treachery, how he is in league with those you would consider closest to you.”

Cailan stared down at the young woman before him. Had he not been king, he would have paid no mind to the accusation, would have let Lady Cousland have her say in any manner she pleased. However, as the situation stood, he could not allow that. He bowed his head to close the space between them even further, holding her gaze. “I said I would give you justice, and I will stand by my word. But mark me my lady, if you are not careful, _your_ words may very well land you somewhere neither of us want.”

Caerlyn measured the king’s tone. They didn’t have to be in court to have the expectations follow them. It would have been better had she stayed guarded. She took a step back. “What kind of justice?” She asked bitterly.

The king nodded, accepting Caerlyn’s retreat. “Howe will hang.” With a softer note, he added, “ ... I know that will not bring your family back, but Howe will not profit from this.” 

“He already has.” Caerlyn whispered under her breath.

“No doubt you wish to see your brother, unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds. They won’t return until the battle is over. Might I suggest you vent your grief on the darkspawn for the time being?”

Caerlyn bowed her head and brought her arm to her chest in silent salute. “Your Grace.” She stepped back to join her fellow recruits.

The king apologized for the abrupt greeting of the new recruits and excused himself to attend to battle strategies. Duncan strode with him for a time, the two men exchanging words of troop movements and expectations for the upcoming war.

Istrum whistled low before chuckling and rocking back on his heels. “Not real good at picking your battles, are you Cousland?” 

“Shut it, dwarf.” 

“Ah, but you are not the one giving orders.” He tipped his head forward, “Fortunately.” Istrum passed Caerlyn as he followed after Duncan and the king toward camp, beckoning to the others as he went. “Ladies?”   
  


\---

  
“What the king said is true. Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows with each passing day. By now they hope to outnumber us. I know there is an archdemon behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling.” Duncan was staring into the fire, working through all that was to come. The man was tired. 

Juno scoffed. “You could if he were not such a fool intent on reliving the _glorious_ tales of the past.” She was sitting on a rolled over stump next to a red-headed elf who was sharpening one of the fiercest broadswords Juno had ever seen. The woman smirked at Juno’s quip.

“You must not speak of the king so. He is over eager perhaps, but he is also one of the few Grey Warden allies. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few.”

“I don’t care if he is one of our allies. If he is blind to the darkspawn threat, he is more a liability than anything else.”

“Killed a few have you?” The red-head kept her attention on her sword.

Juno kicked her heel against the wood. “You get your fair share in the Deep Roads.”

The elf nodded. “Well then, I’ll be sure to follow you tomorrow. Provided we live through the night.”

“Veda.” Duncan gave her a warning glance.

The elf shrugged. “It’s a fair observation judging by the state of those scouts returning from the Wilds.”

“And how is ours holding up?”

“Mahariel? Still hasn’t said a word, but she’s been going through her rations without issue. Should be fine if she takes it slow.”

Duncan nodded, deliberating whether or not the Dalish elf would be strong enough to venture out with the other recruits. “Mhm. And the others?”

Veda sighed heavily, annoyed with her apparent role of keeping tabs on the recruits who weren’t around the central fire. “The cocky one is trying to give someone a green gown - and failing, the one from Redcliffe is dithering the Chant, and your boy has...” The elf raised her head and grinned at Duncan. “He has his hands full.”  
  


\---  
  


“You want more women in the Wardens, do you?”

Alistair put his hands up in surrender. “Look, my lady,” he laughed nervously, “it takes a truly astounding woman to give up hearth and home for a life of war. Wouldn’t any army benefit from such... ah...”

Caerlyn narrowed her eyes, unwilling to assist the Warden in front of her as he fumbled for the right word.

“I’m on my own here, aren’t I? Well of course I am. Silly me.” He smiled sheepishly. “Right, well... right.”

“Duncan wanted to- ”

“Yes! Are you ready then?”

“Is it your prerogative to interrupt others in the middle of a conversation?”

“Wha- no. Me? No. No no no no no. I just remembered Duncan wanted me to see to it that you new recruits joined him after exploring camp.” Alistair gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Shall we?”

“I actually have some business to attend to.” 

“Oh. Lead on then.”

“What?”

“I’m here to accompany you.”

Caerlyn rolled her eyes and headed in the direction of King Cailan’s tent. “Accompany someone else.”

“Uh, but-” Alistair considered for a moment before chasing off after her.

They passed the tents of the Circle mages and the smithy, then the mabari pens. All the while Caerlyn intent on her own purpose, silently walking while Alistair trailed after her.

He tried to think of light conversation to lead Caerlyn back to the task at hand. “I hear you have a mabari.” Silence. “I never had one. Wasn’t allowed.” Alistair lengthened his stride to match hers. “Must be nice.”

Caerlyn cast a side eye’s glance to her left. Alistair wore his armor well, as a man might, but his expressions betrayed a far younger demeanor than one who might have been more prominently battle hardened. There was something else about his features she couldn’t quite place, something familiar. She turned back to the path in front of them. “He listens to instructions better than you.”

“Hold! You approach the tent of Teyrn Loghain. State your business.” 

“I must speak with-” Caerlyn started.

Alistair stepped up in front of her. “Evening good sir! Fine night, isn’t it?”

“State your business or be off with you both.”

“Sorry to bother you, we just got turned around!” Alistair pivoted on his heel and took hold of Caerlyn by her shoulders, hoping to spin her to face the direction in which they’d come. He was met with a firm boot to his shin.

“I have a matter I would discuss with your commander regarding the outcome of some holdings in the south after the battle.” Caerlyn knew she couldn’t very well demand a meeting without some relevant topic to the teyrn, especially if she was here to accuse one of his own of treachery.

The guard looked at her skeptically before opting to inform his commander he had guests. He entered the teyrn’s quarters and left Caerlyn and Alistair outside.

Alistair was flustered next to Caerlyn’s calm. “What are you thinking? The teryn has more important things to-”

“More important things to attend to, yes. I do.” Teyrn Loghain came out in full armor, clearly perturbed with their interruption. “So, what is it?” 

Alistair ruffled his hair, searching for something that would be a plausible excuse for disturbing the teyrn. Caerlyn bowed her head in greeting, and stepped easily in to the accepted pleasantries about the commander’s home and health of his daughter.

“Ah... you’re a Cousland aren’t you?” He appraised her, noting the armor she wore still fit new, without having seen a real battle. “The youngest... Caerlyn isn’t it?”

“It is my lord. I am pleased you-”

“The king told me of his promise. I am certain he has every intention of following it through.” Loghain nodded to his guard, allowing the man to return to his post. “I don’t suppose you’ll be riding into the thick of battle with the rest of your fellows will you?”

Caerlyn allowed a frown to line her face. “That has yet to be decided.”

Loghain chuckled half-heartedly. “Yes, well don’t be too eager for war, young Cousland. I’m sure your father has told you as much.”

She bristled at the mention of her father, but Caerlyn was realizing the teyrn would not allow her to steer the conversation into mentioning Howe or his involvement in overthrowing her family. Not even a breath of it.

“Did you always want to become a Grey Warden, Lady Cousland?” He barely disguised a sneer at the mention of the ancient order.

“I thought so, once.”

“Mmhm. It seems we all come to realize what we wish for comes with consequences few could ever expect.”

“... It would seem.”

“I must bid you good evening, my lady. There are other matters I must see to before the night is done. I am sure you understand.” He bowed his head to the both of them before departing.

  
\---  
  


Duncan paced around the fire, sparks following the smoke as it lifted into the chilled night air. His eight recruits stood listening, the majority of their attention wrapt around his words. Alistair stood near him, waiting patiently. “Tonight, you will be heading into the Korcari Wilds to perform two tasks. The first is to obtain eight vials of darkspawn blood, one for each recruit.”

Istrum elbowed Daveth. “Shouldn’t be too much of a bother with these bows, eh?”

“Nah, I think they might be too high strung.” 

Alistair chuckled and Duncan cleared his throat to call for their focus. 

“Your second task should be far less dangerous. There was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could no longer afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can.”

“Do you have a more specific location other than ‘the Wilds’?” Veda’s question was pointed, her teeth on edge.

The recruits looked at Duncan expectantly. “Follow the ruins and hopefully you’ll find it.”

“More cryptic directions.” Caerlyn pulled out her daggers. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Let’s get on with it then.”

“Yes. I am sorry there isn’t more time. Juno, as you are the most familiar with darkspawn, I ask that you lead Istrum, Daveth, and Rhian through one of the routes marked. 

Juno nodded, “As you say, Duncan.”

“Alistair, you will lead the remaining recruits, taking into account that Aneiryn is still recovering from her previous encounter.”

The groups divided as they stepped through the gate guarding the Wilds entrance, Duncan accompanying them just beyond the border. “Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly, and safely. May the Maker watch over your path.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever I play Origins, Cailan always comes across to me as a fool who doesn't know how to be king. I wanted to try and give him a bit of what I thought he was lacking in his brief conversation with Caerlyn. 
> 
> Daveth is the one Veda is referring to as trying to "give someone a green gown." This is a 1300s euphemism for having sex.


	13. Darkspawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Juno Aeducan guide the Warden recruits through the Wilds where they encounter their first darkspawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while friends! I had to cut this chapter in half because it was getting so long, but I certainly hope your patience has been rewarded with this update. Thank you for reading and don't forget to leave a comment about what you enjoyed!

There was a sick squelch as Juno twisted her ax, freeing it from the freshly opened skull of the genlock at her feet. She kicked the corpse with her boot, watching dispassionately as its fingers continued to twitch. There were other bodies around them, torn apart or pinned with arrows, all contained in a semi-circle of dark blood and gore that turned Rhian’s stomach. The stench was what did her in.

As Rhian retched behind a bush, Istrum tugged out the four vials he’d been given. He passed two over to Juno, knowing she’d fill them without issue, her foot bracing to keep her victim’s throat open. He gave another to Daveth, who looked about as pale as a nug, and nodded toward another body.

“Really? You really going to make me dig in for this?”

“They’re _dead_ , Daveth. I’d hope you’d be smart enough not to stick your fingers in your mouth at this point.” Istrum prepared the remaining vial.

Daveth pointed over to where Rhian was slumped, supported only by her stave. “You giving her that last one?”  
Istrum stuck his jaw forward, narrowing his eyes at the other archer. “You want to carry our only healer around these darkspawn infested wilds, be my guest.”

The man muttered his annoyance to himself as he set to work filling his own vial with darkspawn blood. Juno capped hers and returned the vials to Istrum, watching the humans deal with the after effects of their first encounter with the creatures. Daveth had done well under pressure, shooting off arrows as quickly as his counterpart. He almost seemed to have enjoyed it. Rhian, she’d kept them shielded, more or less. She hadn’t posed enough of a threat for the darkspawn to actively seek her out at least. It was clear she was as inexperienced as they came.

“She’s going to hold us up. I know you know that.”

“If taking it slow means we’re less likely to get killed, I’m fine with that. I’d rather not need healing if I can help it.” Istrum began filling the final vial. “Besides, she’s not like you, my lady. She hasn’t been brought up for battle.”

Juno wiped her axes on a patch of grass, scoffing at the idea of Rhian in battle. “A healer still needs to know how to defend herself.”“Give her time.”  
The warrior frowned as she gave a final kick to the corpse at her feet. “She may not have that luxury.”  


\---  


“Please, someone... help... me.”

Neiryn stalked toward the voice, scouting for any traps the others might trigger. There was a single man somewhat removed from the remains of a previous scouting party, and she could tell he’d spent some time dragging himself away from the carnage. She circled, her stealth allowing the elf to seek out any further threat.

Ser Jory was the first to make himself known, finding the soldier after Neiryn had whistled the all clear. “This man needs medical attention!” He called back to Alistair.

“Just leave him.” Veda had her sword across a shoulder, carrying it like a halberd. “We don’t have the time to take him back. He’s half dead anyway.”

“Wha- You want us to leave him? How could you even think- He needs help!”

Veda stood her ground, unmoved by the Redcliffe soldier’s display of concern. “If it were up to me, I’d let you all die.” She stared up at the older man, challenging him to act.

“Here, Caerlyn, I have some bandages in my pack.” Alistair motioned her over, but she made no move to help.

She was back in Highever, back home, in little more than a shift and greaves, surrounded by flames. She was back in the kitchen cellar, staring down at the bloodies bodies of her parents. And there was nothing she could do.

Alistair passed the pouch over to Jory, who’d claimed he’d seen similar wounds before. And as Jory attended to his wounds, the soldier tried to warn them of darkspawn in the area. He all but begged them not to continue on. Then he gripped at Caerlyn’s wrist, hoping his pleas would be heard. Her breath hitched and her eyes widened. A dead man. Cut and burned like all the rest. And every night they would pull her down to their charred faces to try and steal away her skin. Because it was theirs, they’d whisper. Because her life was theirs, had been theirs. If they could not live as she did, they would settle for her death. Caerlyn’s swords came out in a flurry, intent on freeing herself from whatever horror latched on to her.

She didn’t hear the shouts of protest from her comrades, just the wails and cries of men being burned alive under fallen crossbeams. Her blades were parried away, ringing with the sound of metal against metal that barely covered the shouts erupting around her. The Dalish elf was crouched in front of Caerlyn, breathing heavy as she shielded the wounded soldier from Caerlyn’s swords with a small pair of daggers.

“-land! _Cousland_!”

Caerlyn blinked, looking at Neiryn as if she’d been shaken awake from a nightmare. “I...”

“What in Maker’s name are you thinking? This man isn’t your enemy!” Ser Jory was red in the face, a mixture of terror and surprise.

Caerlyn took a few steps back, watching them all, trying to register that she was standing in grass rather than the dust and ashen remains of her home. She swallowed hard and sheathed her weapons.

“Are you alright?” Alistair reached an arm out to her, but as soon as Caerlyn realized why, she rebuffed his hand.

“I’m fine!” She cleared her throat and set her jaw. “He’s a lost cause; I won’t waste my time with this!” She turned on her heel and strode away angrily, leaving Alistair floundering for words.

“But we need to...” ‘Stay together’ is what he wanted to shout, but he realized she was intent on ignoring him.

“I didn’t come here to tell a dying dog he’ll live.” Veda threw her hand up behind her in parting and casually walked after Caerlyn. “Catch up with us when you’re done shem.”

“What?” Alistair shook his head trying to process what was happening. “This isn’t a field trip you know! You can’t just-” Alistair pulled a hand down over his face in frustration and let his shoulders slump forward.

“Ugh. This is ridiculous!” He mimicked Duncan’s voice in his annoyance, “‘Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely.’ Well we _would_ if your chosen few weren’t a bunch of crazy people!”

He caught Neiryn watching him with some measure of amusement and sighed. “Would you _please_ make sure they don’t get strung up by their toes or something? At least not by darkspawn?”

She nodded and left, expertly navigating her way forward while staying under cover. Done with the bandages, Jory helped the wounded soldier to his feet, pointed him in the direction of camp, and wished him luck. He gathered his things and handed the pouch back over to Alistair

“An interesting troupe of misfits Duncan picked, aren’t we?”

“That’s one word for it.” Alistair had his arms crossed, looking in the direction the rest of his team had gone. “Tell me, Ser Jory, did you ever have any issues with insubordination in Redcliffe?”

“Insubordination? Not a one. But we were fighting for the same thing, each other. Here, it seems like they’re all fighting for themselves.”  


\---  


“I swear to you, them Chasind folks are real!”

“I’m not doubting they’re real, Daveth, just the part about their tattoos being magical.” Even though Istrum didn’t believe everything that flowed out of the other rogue’s mouth, his stories were good ones. “Besides, for that to even work they’d need some kind of lyrium store and a way to work magic. I don’t see any of that around here.”

“Maybe it’s like how the tranquil can craft enchanted runes,” Rhian chimed in. She’d be listening intently to Daveth’s stories to keep her mind off the darkspawn threat. “But they would use skin instead of stone.”

“What, you mean like physically grafting them under the skin?”

“More or less.”

Istrum gave it some thought. They didn’t have ways to enchant things in Orzammar; all that business had to be done through the surface markets. But his nan used to tell stories about dwarves who became as strong as stone itself. He raised his head toward Juno, “Oi, did you ever hear about those stone monsters back home?”

“They were called golems, Istrum, a masterpiece of Paragon Caridin. The Shapers think it was some kind of augmentation involving lyrium, but no one remembers how it was done.” Juno continued forward, used to being the one keeping an eye out for the enemy.

“Probably spirits,” added Daveth. “Speaking of, there’s this old, old folktale my mum would tell me before bed.”

Istrum was surprised. “You’re going to tell us a ghost story?”

“Don’t you have those underground, master dwarf?”

“Of course we do! I was just expecting something... I don’t know, more exotic?”

Daveth laughed. “More exotic? I hate to tell you this, friend, but we topsiders piss the same way you do!”

“What did she tell you, Daveth?” They’d been walking over hillsides for a while now, and the Wilds had kept far too quiet for Rhian’s liking. Daveth’s voice was reassuring in its loose familiarity with the world. “Your mother.”

The rogue moved closer to Rhian, making sure his hands were free to include storytelling gestures. “Well, my beauty, it’s called the Tale of Astia and Nebbunar. Legend has it that when Astia was a child, she had a friend named Gazarath, a spirit of the earth.”

“Totally a dwarf.” Istrum interjected.

“Fair assumption, friend.” Daveth gave him a wink before continuing. “Astia grew up visiting Gazarath every day, and it watched her become a beautiful maiden. Then one day, she did not come, for she had met a handsome lad by the name of Nebbunar. The two fell in love, and Astia wished for her lover to meet her friend. When Astia sought Gazarath out, it grew angry and jealous that she had brought her lover. Gazarath told her that unless she brought her lover’s ashes and sprinkled them over their childhood meeting place, she would never see it again. So, on the day they were to wed, Astia, so stricken with grief for her lost friendship, slit her beloved’s throat as he slept. She burned Nebbunar and collected his ashes. Before she was able to spread them on the ground, it is said that an otherworldly mist rose up and made her lose her way. She came to stand on the precipice of a cliff not too far from here and was pushed to her death by the ghost of the man she had loved. And to this day, the spirit waits, not knowing Astia will never return to it.”

“Ancestors, that’s a sad one.”

“The ones where they never return to each other always are.” Daveth nodded in agreement before pulling a small pouch from his belt. “But, we may be able to do something about that.”

“No.” Istrum’s smile widened in excitement.

“Oh yes. I have here, a bonafide pouch of Nebbunar’s very ashes.”

Daveth opened the pouch for Istrum and Rhian to see, and the dwarf dipped his pinky into the pile of ashes before bringing it up to his tongue.

“It sure as shit ain’t dirt.”

Rhian took a glance and frowned, not liking where the conversation was headed. She looked up to see Juno waiting for them at the crest of a hill, a hand on her hip and a bored expression on her face. The dwarf’s weapons were fully sheathed, showing no sign that they were threatened by darkspawn, or anything else for that matter.

“Leave it be, Daveth. We don’t need to wander around these wilds any more than we already have.”

Daveth put an arm around Rhian. “My darling mage, it just so happens that our fearless leader has found exactly where we’re supposed to go to deliver these ashes. And it would be poor manners to ignore that.”

“You do realize that all legends start with some piece of truth, don’t you?”

“It wasn’t a spirit, kid. It was a dwarf.” Istrum quickened his pace up the hill they were climbing. “He probably pushed the chick off the cliff in a fit of jealousy.”

“And if it is a spirit, and you summon it, what then? It’s not likely to grant you any wishes. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“It’s a _story_ , Rhian. There’s no harm in it.”

Juno wasn’t too pleased to learn of Daveth’s plan once the trio had made it to the top of the hill, but considering they were nearby and in no immanent danger, she said nothing against it. “Just get it over with.” She pointed at a ruin in the direction they were headed. “The tower is a few leagues off. The sooner we regroup with everyone there, the better.”

After some time searching through the grass, Istrum came upon a small cairn of rocks grown over with lichen. “Think I found our spot.”

Rhian watched as Daveth gleefully made his way over to the dwarf. Her warnings would not stop either of the men from doing as they pleased with the ashes. Perhaps there was a chance that nothing would happen, but Rhian knew better than to ignore mention of vengeful spirits. Some part of her felt something menaced just below the surface of that tale, aching to be free.

“Does it matter if we sprinkle it or pour it out all at once, do you think?”

Istrum knocked an arrow. “All in, I say. No sense doing something half-arsed.”

“Right. Here goes.”

Daveth poured the contents of the pouch over the rocks at his feet. The dust from the ashes floated about the pile of stones, rising in slow circulating plumes. The pair of rogues held their breath waiting for some cataclysmic sign they’d summoned Gazarath back from the past, an earthquake, a storm from the heavens, lightning to strike them down.

“Well that was a load of-”

“No, no, no, no, no! Look!”

What wind that had moved the dust began picking up the ashes, urging them high and growing them thick with shadows until, in their entirety, they were eye level with Daveth. Dry words whistled on the air in pieces, _“Who summons Gazarath from slumber?”_

“Uhh,” was all Daveth managed to get out before calling for Rhian over his shoulder in utter fear.

A name was all Gazarath needed to solidify its form in the world, along with its purpose. Claws slashed the air, searching for a purchase of flesh where Daveth had been standing moments before. He had tripped over himself in a hurry to back away from the creature. Istrum shot his arrow into the heart of the beast, but it never connected. Whatever thing it was, there was no flesh to hold his points.

Rhian heard Juno coming down the hill, the dwarf’s armor rattling with each step. “Juno, stop! You won’t be able to-”

Gazarath threw the warrior back as hard as she’d come at him. Juno rolled from the hit, tumbling into Daveth who’d just managed to get back on his feet. Istrum knocked another arrow out of habit and loosed it at the creature’s head. Still nothing.

Istrum felt his arms go numb, the energy it took to hold his bowstring taut was completely gone. Juno sat where she had fallen, breathing heavily and unable to move in her armor. The horror on Daveth’s face as Gazarath drew closer burned itself into Rhian’s mind. She may not have been well versed in physical combat, but this, this was something she knew how to stop.

Rhian cast a strong wave of green energy around her companions, restoring their strength and aiding in their recovery. She called to mind the lessons necessary to augment their weapons and shield herself in ice armor, her breath clouding up around her face as the spell took hold. “That is a shade. Keep away from it and attack at a distance. Those barriers won’t hold long against its energy.”

Juno was the only one who moved to follow Rhian’s guidance. She reached over to Daveth’s chest and pulled a throwing knife from its casing before making it arc swiftly through the air and into the shade’s eye. The creature howled an ungodly sound and moved to attack the pair, just as their barriers began to flicker out.

In a rush to draw the creature away, Rhian drew the head of her stave back and angled it at the demon. The air around the stone crackled, shivering with the energy she was about to expel. She let the magic loose, but instead of firing directly at the creature as she had intended, the sky above them darkened. The wind began to turn swiftly around the group and was soon howling with a winter storm. It was a blizzard.

Rhian bit at her lip, cursing herself for not being more aware of the subtleties in her new stave. Whatever she had intended, this would fare the shade no better. The ground began to freeze around it. Snow and ice latched on to the knife in its eye, growing crystals all around it until the creature was frozen. Not wanting to waste any more time or reserves of her mana, Rhian reversed her stave so the blade was exposed and pointed toward the shade. She had no arm for throwing from this distance, so she ran. She ran as swiftly as she could find solid footing and did as she had done before in the Tower, drove the blade straight through the demon.

The creature broke into pieces, and then again into dust. Rhian closed off the channels fueling the blizzard and let out a sigh of relief. “It’s just a story, Daveth?”

“I-i-it wasn’t supposed to work!” Daveth shouted at her while he stayed on the ground, hands covering his eyes.

She walked over to him and kicked his boot. “Maker’s breath, man, listen the next time I tell you something’s a bad idea! Do you have any idea what could have happened? Never test anything related to the Fade or spirits or demons! You’ll end up dead or worse!”

Rhian turned to address Istrum and his role in the mess, but she stopped short when she noticed his wrapt attention on the last bit of snow falling from the sky. It only now occurred to her that he and Juno had never seen snow before, that ice magic would be foreign to them, off-putting, and probably somewhat terrifying in itself. She offered her hand to him instead.

“Did you make the sky fall?”

“No,” Rhian helped him up, “just the clouds.”

“Stones if I ever have to see that again.” Istrum brushed the powder off his shoulders and then paused, turning to see where Juno had ended up.

She was on her feet, doing the same as he was, but she looked far less perturbed about Rhian’s snowstorm. He gathered she just didn’t want anyone to notice, and went over to see how she fared in private.

“Alright, my lady?”

“I’m fine, Brosca.”

“Yes, and we’re still happily underground in Orzammar. Did you see what she did?”

Juno looked over their shoulders at Rhian as she prodded Daveth with her stave to finally get him up and moving. “She moved the sky.”  


\---  


“Why don’t _we_ have the mage?” Alistair gritted his teeth from behind his shield, deflecting blow after blow as the darkspawn swarmed their small party.

Caerlyn had stirred up a nest of trouble when she’d stormed off on her own, and now they were back to back, trying not to lose their footing in the mess of black blood at their feet.

Veda, blood-spattered and swinging, yelled out across the din, “Too much for you shem?”

Alistair grunted with the effort of leaning into an attack before he bashed a hurlock to the side. “I’m just saying a fireball going in the other direction would be nice!”

“Get down, you idiot!” Caerlyn pushed Alistair’s head back down to the cover of his shield as she deflected an incoming blow. “Who has casual conversation in the middle of a battle?” She landed two solid strikes into the gut of another darkspawn.

“Um. We do?” Alistair slashed forward into the enemy and found a break in their lines. It was a clear shot to their emissary, or rather, the other way round. “Incoming!”

The poisoned knot of magic hit Veda squarely in the back. She staggered forward with the weight of her sword overhead, bringing it down to steady herself. “Are you fucking kidding me, right now?” She yelled at the offending darkspawn. The redhead went into a rage, turning on her heel and running straight toward the emissary.

“She’s going to get herself killed!” Jory shouted, still making his way up the enemy’s left flank.

As Veda drew the darkspawns’ attention, Neiryn ribboned quickly through their ranks with daggers and knives, ensuring Veda’s path to her target was kept clear. Her smoke bombs provided the perfect cover for her companion to charge straight into the emissary.

The darkspawn’s headless body toppled over with a thud, dark blood spurting out of its neck. Veda had her sword in both hands and a murderous rage spooled tightly into a grin. She left none around her alive.

The party picked through the bodies, each one filling their vials and trying not to gag at the stench. Neiryn collected what throwing knives she could find and retrieved the handful of arrows she’d used. Jory was making a poor attempt at cleaning the blood off his greaves while Veda looted the bodies for anything shiny or useful.

“I’m not going to talk to her. _You’re_ the leader. You talk to her.” Caerlyn jabbed a finger against Alistair’s chest plate.

“Me? Talk to- Did you see what she just did?” He whispered, his back facing the rest of their party.

Caerlyn leaned off to the side to take another look at Veda’s carnage. “Um. Yeah.”

“Oh sure. I’ll just go talk to the murderous raging elf who hates humans. What could possibly go wrong?” He frowned at Caerlyn as he turned around, putting a smile on his face to hopefully show he wasn’t actually scared out of his wits.

“So, um. Everyone alright? Good to go? Got our blood?” Alistair cleared his throat. “Veda? We good?”

Tabris lifted her head from the broadax she’d been eyeing. She didn’t say anything, simply pulled her filled vial out of her pocket and waved it at him.

“Ah. Right. Good. Good, good, good. Uh, we should be heading...”

Neiryn pointed the path out for him, a twinge of a smile on the corner of her face.

“That way. Right. Thank you.” Alistair made an attempt to sound confident and upbeat. “Let’s get those treaties.”


End file.
